Rubbaboo:

A Journal of the Mackenzie District

1859-1862

By
Robert Kennicott

First published by James Alton in 1942

New Edition by Walter Vanast

McGill University

IntellectualProperty

Draft 1

Corrections and Suggestions Invited

wvanast@videotron.ca

walter.vanast@mcgill.ca
 This version is derived from James Alton, “Journal Of Robert Kennicott: Chicago To Fort
Yukon And Return,” in Alton, The First Scientific Exploration Of Russian America And The
Purchase Of Alaska Northwestern University Evanston And Chicago, Northwestern University
Studies In The Social Sciences, 1942, number 4.

I have removed extraneous material related to Kennicott himself and left in place what is of
interest concerning the North’s native people and the whites present among them.
 A RUBBABOO JOURNAL FOR
FRIENDS AT HOMEi

Rubbaboo, a favorite dish with northern voyageurs, consists of pemmican made into soup by
boiling in water. Flour is added when it can be obtained, and it is considered more palatable with
a little sugar.

Pemmican is supposed by the benighted world outside to consist only of pounded meat and
grease; [86] an egregious error; for from experience I am authorized to state that hair, sticks,
bark, spruce leaves, stones, sand, etc., enter into its composition, often largely, especially if the
meat has been pounded by the Indians.

Rubbaboo is made in open kettles, of snow water. It is decidedly the best way to cook pemmican
at night, and a gallon or so makes a good supper when on a voyage. I was a little shy of it for a
while after learning how two packet men were made into pemmican near Fort Good Hope, a few
years since [the 1841 spring] by starving Indians.

Having described rubbaboo, I must now tell why I call these writings a Rubbaboo Journal.

Any queer mixture gets that name among the voyageurs. When I try to speak French, and mix
English, Slavy and Louchioux words with it, they tell me "that's a rubbaboo." And when the
Indians sing a voyaging song, the different keys and tunes make a "rubbaboo." In short, what
outsiders would call an old fashioned jumble, etc., is here aptly termed a rubbaboo.

Now if this be not worthy of the name of a journal, I am confident it will be a pretty fair
rubbaboo.
 The Methye Portageii
July 1859
On July 24 we arrived at Portage La Loche, or Methy Portage.iii, ten or twelve miles in length,
This crosses the great dividing ridge between the waters ofthe Winnipeg basin and those of the
northern slope, [71] the waters of which fall into the Arctic Ocean. It affords a striking view to
the traveler, for ascent to this point from the south is not perceptible; but on the northern side the
land falls more than a thousand feet into the valley of the Clearwater.

Looking down upon the hillsides, thickly covered with spruce, they appear toward the bottom
more like meadows than forests. A mist hangs over the valley, so that the view in the distance is
always indistinct. The soil is deep, black, and rich, and the vegetation surprisingly luxuriant as
compared with that of any point between here and Lake Winnipeg. The trees are dense and
large.iv

At the north end of the Portage we met Mr. [Bernard Rogan] Ross and other gentlemen from the
Mackenzie River District, with nine boats. These left for the north on the Clearwater in three
brigades half a day apart in order to avoid crowding on the portages. v
 Methye Portage to Fort Simpson

August 1-15, 1859

I started with Mr. Ross on the 1st of August [up the Clearwater ]vi .On the evening of the 3rd we
reached the Athabasca, vii ... [72] which, like the west end of Lake Athabasca into which it flows,
contains numerous low islands.

We crossed the west end of the lake to Fort Chippewayan, which is built in a rocky bay. Thence
we passed down a narrow and rapid stream, from sixty to eighty miles in length, called Rocky
River, into the Peace or Slave River.viii

We reached Fort Resolution, at the mouth of Slave River, and from this point coasted around the
southwest side of Great Slave Lake to the head of Mackenzie River, down which we passed in
two days to Fort Simpson.

The Mackenzie is a magnificent stream, deep and rapid, averaging over one and a half miles in
width. The shores are fifty or sixty feet high, but the country back is not hilly within sight of the
river. In spring, when the ice is breaking up, the water rises forty feet above its present level.

There are no impassable rapids in the Mackenzie, and a steamer could doubtless pass freely
from the ocean to Great Slave Lake.

We reached Fort Simpson on the 15th of August, having been fourteen days on the passage from
Methy Portage, a distance of more than six hundred miles. We had been able to keep on at night,
floating upon the large rivers, and we sailed a good part of the way. The return takes three times
as long.
 Fort Simpson

Fort Simpson is on an island on the southwest side of the river, just below the mouth of the
Liard. Like all the posts of the Hudson's Bay Company of the north, the buildings are arranged
on three sides of a square, leaving the front open. They consist of the gentlemen's house at the
back, a store on each side, and a servant’s' house at each front corner. There is no wall or
stockade, but only a simple fence around the post.

The sheds for cattle, and a blacksmith's shop, are placed behind the fort. At the distance of a
hundred rods is the missionary's house, and a church is soon to be erected. The five houses
comprising the fort are square, built of logs and weather-boarded; they are each about twenty-
five by thirty-five feet and two stories high.

In many places this side of Methy Portage, the soil is fertile, [73] and the country is better
wooded, at least along the rivers, than on English River. Indeed the timber is much heavier than I
had expected to see in latitude 62° north. Some of the spruces are two feet and a half in diameter,
and from seventy-five to a hundred feet high; and the balsam poplars nearly two feet in diameter.

The scrub pines (P. Banksiana) are much larger than the maximum size attained by them at the
south. Some miles back from the rivers there are extensive tracts barren of trees, or supporting
only a few stunted and scattered ones on both high and swampy ground.

At Forts Simpson, Resolution, and Liard potatoes and barley are raised, the former in
considerable quantities, and of good quality.

There are fine oxen, and cows, reasonably good milkers, at Fort Simpson and several other posts
in the district. Dried reindeer and moose meat, with fish, are, however, the chief food of the
district. Pemmican is used on the summer voyages, when the men have also an allowance of
barley, ground by hand-mills. Fort Simpson is almost wholly dependent upon other posts for its
supply of meat.

The fishery is at Big Island, at the foot of Great Slave Lake. But few fish are caught at the fort,
and these only in summer. They are all "Inconnus" (Salmo Mackenzii), which is poor in quality,
but of large size, often four feet in length. The fish are taken in gill-nets, hung up by sticks run
through the tail, and are often kept in a frozen state through the entire winter. Dogs are fed
almost wholly upon fish.

The first snow falls at Fort Simpson early in October, and ice begins to drift in the river about the
middle of the month. About the 1st of November the temperature falls to the neighborhood of
zero, and by the middle of the month may reach 26° below. The coldest ever known here was
62° below, but weather 50° below is not common.

The river breaks up late in May or early in June, and the boats leave here for Methy Portage
about June 20th.

Great Slave Lake is, however, sometimes not open until July.
 Fort Liard,
January 1860.1

We left Fort Simpson [for Fort Liard], with two dog trains. Mine had three dogs, but they proved
to be poor ones, so [74] that I could not ride over four or five miles a day. The distance is two
hundred and sixty miles, and we made it in seven days, going thus thirty-seven miles per day,
which is considered fair walking, even for good voyageurs.

I had a pretty hard time of it. It was my first real attempt at snow-shoe walking; my shoes were
bad, and I was lame at starting. The weather, too, was cold, 30° or 40° below part of the time.

The second day of the voyage I began to suffer from mal de racquet, or snow-shoe lameness.
This is a painful inflamation at the ankle of the tendon which flexes the great toe. This does not
wear off, but gets worse by exercise. As I could not ride, however, there was nothing to be done
but to bear the pain, which became so severe that cold and fatigue were forgotten. No permanent
evil resulted, however, except an enlargement of the ankle and tendon.

We arrived at Fort Liard on January 9th.

Fort Liard is situated, like all northern posts, on a river, the Liard, which is here about a quarter
of a mile wide. A few miles off may be seen a spur of the Rocky Mountains, and the country
around is mostly hilly.

The fort is one of the smaller posts of the district. The buildings consist of three small, one-story
houses only.

My time here was chiefly employed in studying the Indian languages, a slow operation. ix

In winter the Slave (Tinne) Indians neither dress warmly nor live in warm huts, using a sort of
lodge of evergreen boughs and wearing only a couple of leather shirts and a pair of leather

1
[Footnote, original p. 73: 1 Kennicott passed the autumn and close of 1859 at Fort Simpson,
with the exception of three weeks in October, which were occupied by a trip to Fort Liard, on
Liard River, near the Rocky Mountains. At the beginning of January, 1860, he made a much
longer visit to Fort Liard, which is described in the above extracts.]
leggins. They have but a single blanket, and, wrapped in this alone, they will often sleep on a
little pile of evergreen brush, sometimes permitting their camp fires to go out in the night, and
this in a temperature of more than twenty degrees below zero.

On February 24th I went on a fox hunt some twenty miles distant, but was recalled the second
day, a large party of starving Indians having arrived. At the time there were only two weeks'
provisions in the fort, and the hunters were killing no moose, so that the prospect was that of
famine.

Under these circumstances Mr. McKenzie, the gentleman in charge, decided to send off a party
to Fort Simpson, and thus relieve his post, while those remaining were put on "half prey." This
party I joined.

We were nine days on the way to Fort Simpson, arriving there on the 8th of March. I got on this
time very well, without lameness or great fatigue, although walking nearly every step of the way.
Fort Yukon
1860-1861
 Caribou at The Small House
April 1861

During this month I started [from Fort Yukon] for the Small House beyond which, on the Gens
du Large Mountains, the Indians were encamped, and killing deer in a "barrier." Messrs.
Lockhart and Jones, and two of the men, had arrived several days before me.

The caribou in migrating to and from the seacoast in autumn and spring take particular roads;
and as they are of course moving always the same way at each season the Indians [81] erect a
rude fence, enclosing a funnel-shaped space, the mouth enclosing the base of a mountain over
which the deer are known to make a road. At the narrow end snares of twisted babbiche (small
raw-hide lines) are placed in great numbers, as well as a few throughout the fence forming the
barrier.

The deer entering the mouth of the barrier are cut off from retreat by the Indians. Many are shot
in their attempts to turn back. The rest (nearly all) are strangled in the snares, unless they burst
through the barrier, as is often the case.

Unlike moose, caribou run against the wind if alarmed, and from this cause bad winds prevented
our seeing much fun during the week we stayed with the Indians. But I got a number of
porcupines, ptarmigans, etc.

I came back to the fort alone, arriving on April 17, obliged to sleep during the day, and travel
only at night, on account of the thawing.

I have killed one carcajou this month. I had not visited my trap for two days, and it had broken
the chain and carried the trap a distance (including all his turns) of perhaps twenty miles. Yet the
beast is little over two feet long. It is wonderful how strong it is in proportion to its size.
 Geese
May-June, 1861
About the first of the month migrating birds begin to arrive, and grand preparations were made
for the goose hunt, which is the great sport of the year...x

The geese pass here usually in immense numbers, but there were fewer than usual this year, and
most we saw passed high. xi The general course is apparently from east to west; but how far this
is owing to the direction of rivers, etc. I cannot say.

The modus operandi of the hunters is to make a low cabin, or blind of willows, or logs, on some
island, or point, where the geese are known to pass, and close to a piece of open water. In this the
hunter stands, and when he sees a band of geese, imitates their call, when they will, generally, if
not too [82] high, and he calls well, turn and come to him.

As fast as any geese are killed, they are "planted" near the stand, and when there are a number of
these decoys, and a good caller, the geese will come within twenty feet, where the hunter must
lie still till he thinks them close enough, when he stands up and knocks them over.

If one does not call well he runs a poor chance, as others call the geese from him. I only had fine
sport one or two days, when I had a good caller with me.
 Eggs
May-June 1861

The ice in the Yukon River broke up on the 22nd and was drifting for five or six days. The river
rose only six or eight feet, as it is very wide opposite the fort; but the current was strong, and the
immense mass of moving ice made a very grand scene. All the islands and battures in the river
were covered with ice and water, excepting a few of the highest.

In the latter part of May I began to find some birds' eggs, and get some interesting birds and
mammals. The weather, too, grew warmer, and with the spermophiles I gradually awoke from
my hibernation, and began, at least, to vegetate.

We got a many eggs, which I find good eating if the embryos haven't got feathers yet. When the
eggs contain feathered young we consider them unfit for our table, and send them to the kitchen
for our Indian cook.xii

On the 29th I found, while wading in a marsh, a nest of Wilson's snipe. There was ice under the
water, and my half hour in the water had made me rather chilly; but then and there my vegetating
mental energies underwent a forcing process, which developed them into the animated.

Since then I've been neither lethargic nor lazy. And when the letters arrived in the packet [83] a
few days after I got into the highest state of animal spirits imaginable, which state has been kept
up ever since by the rarae aves Lockhart and I have been daily procuring.

From the last of May till now (June 24th) Lockhart and I have been at work generally about
eighteen hours out of every twenty-four. As it is light all night (indeed for a week we see the sun
at midnight, by refraction, I suppose), we pay little attention to the time of day, but just work as
long as we can keep awake.

We start off from the fort with several Indians and canoes, and go through a series of lakes,
making portages between these and the various small rivers (both lakes and rivers are very
numerous), thus making a turn of fifty to one hundred miles in two or three days.
We always go with at least two canoes and a party of four, and when we enter a lake one of the
occupants of one canoe hunt in it through the grass at the edge of the lake where the loons,
grebes, and canvas-back ducks nest, while his companion wades in the shallow water among the
grass, near shore, where we get Fulix marila and F. affinis (scaup ducks) eggs, and sometimes a
nest of Dafila acut a (pin-tail duck), that is near the water, or a canvasback duck in shoal water.

The nests are found by seeing the female rise from them. For widgeon's eggs we hunt through
the bushes, and for pin-tail ducks, too, generally. When we find spots that seem to promise good
breeding ground ashore, we leave the canoes and hunt through the woods and open, dry spots.

We camp during the middle of the day at some good point for collecting, nominally to sleep, but,
in fact, we sleep very little. I was at one time out three days, in which time I slept only once, and
then scarce six hours, when I had already been forty-eight hours without sleep. I am making up
for last winter's hibernation.

The hunting in the canoes is glorious sport, but unfortunately we do not get the best collections
in them, but while wading, or on land, in both of which situations the mosquitoes are horrible
beyond all conception. I often long for a temperature of 50° or 60° below zero that I might be
relieved from them. It is not the cold, but the mosquitoe, that is the hardest thing to endure in the
north.

Canoes

[84] I have a good canoe and can manage it well for a beginner, and when the ducks moult I
intend to have a few days' sport shooting them in the lakes with arrows.

[84] The Yukon canoes are very different from those of the southern Indians; quite low,
perfectly flat, and rather broad on the bottom, and consisting almost wholly of the thin birch-bark
that forms the outside-the braces and gunwales of wood, exceedingly light. Their having so little
wood about them makes them very light.xiii

My canoe will carry two, yet I can carry it readily on my shoulder, even with my blanket, gun,
collecting apparatus, and provisions in it. These canoes are very steady, too, and mine is
particularly so. I often stand up in it while paddling among the grass, looking for eggs. A good
canoe in summer, and good dogs in winter, are among the greatest comforts in the north, and I
have both.

June 26th-Lockhart and I have both stopped at the fort for several days, writing, and blowing
eggs, etc., each sending a number of trained savages off collecting.
 Fort Yukon Indians
July 1861
I have scarcely time to tell of the many things I notice among the Indians now here. They are vile
beasts, all things considered, though the Yukon Indians are far better than those of Mackenzie
River and Slave Lake region.2

There are now [July 3] a hundred or two Indians gathering at the fort awaiting the arrival of
goods. Some come from several hundred miles distant. Five or six sub-tribes are represented, but
all speak nearly the same language, and are related to each other.

Kutch-a-kutch-in are the tribe living immediately about the fort, and of whom we see the most
throughout the year. Their three chiefs are the most influential among all the Indians who visit
the fort, especially "Old Thunder," as he is nicknamed. His Indian name is Si-neu-teh.

The old wretch has five wives, and will have more, though he must be full sixty or seventy years
old. The Indians, however, are very long-lived, and show age but little. Old Thunder does not
appear over forty.

"Red Leggins" (Ba-kieh-na-chah-teh, father of "His feet are big"), the Black River chief of
Kutch-a-kutch-in, is an excellent old fellow, the best and most intelligent Indian I have seen at
the north. He and I are on excellent terms. He not only has brought me the best things I have
obtained from Indians, but has made his chil-a-ques (young men) collect for me too.

It is a singular thing that, excepting a few taught by the whites, none of these Indians can swim.
Even for crossing small brooks they are forced to use rafts or bridges if they are too deep for
wading.

I have seen a few skin boats, formed like those of the Eskimos, from whom, in fact, the idea is
borrowed.

The Slave Indians and Chepewayans did not use any kind of skin lodges or wigwams till within a

2
I’ve moved this paragraph up several pages
comparatively recent period when they appeared to have borrowed the custom from the Crees.
And even now not half of them use them, living in open camps formed of spruce brush.

But the Yukon Indians, who are a much higher order of mankind, use very neat, large and warm
lodges, formed of skins of caribou, stretched upon light, arched poles. The lodge has a low roof,
and a door at each end, except in very cold weather, when one is closed. When the camp is
moved the poles are carried off too, unless a very long journey is to be made.

The wives, of course, do all the work and haul the sleds, with the help of dogs. But the women
never cook. The men cook for themselves, and, after eating, throw the bones and poorer pieces to
the women and dogs.

Many Indians speak a rubbaboo of a language we call broken Slavy, based on the tongue of
Slave Lake Indians, mixed with French, English, Norwegian, Gaelic, Cree, and even Eskimo
words. This I can patter after a fashion; and through any Indian who understands it talk on
ordinary topics with any of them, without any other interpreter.

When visiting camps, as I have sometimes done, I have had long harangues with the Indians.
They are great talkers, and fond of stories. I have, of course, received a new name, by which
alone I am called by the Indians. It is che-tsoh-kah-kieh (Che-tsoh, a bird, and kah-kieh, chief, or
master). My first collection coming down in the boat, being among birds, old Ba-kieh-na-chah-
teh, who was with us, gave me this name. But they usually drop the kah-kieh, as it is the
appellation of any gentleman, as well as of their own chiefs, and call me Che-tsoh.

The dresses of the Yukon Indians are rather bonnie. I have a winter one of the Gens du Large,
and will try to get a summer one of Kutch-a-kutch-in.

They treat their women a little worse than their dogs, and the killing of female infants, to avoid
the care of them, is not, or was not, of very rare occurrence.

They are in character very like young children, badly bred, and with some of the vices of age.
But they seldom or never are known to steal. I go to bed and to sleep with dozens of them in my
room, and my things scattered about, and I do not think I ever had so much as a pin stolen.
 Last Days Fort Yukon

After Mr. Lockhart left the Yukon about July 10th, until I left myself, I did but little. I was sick
for a few days, and lost much time hunting in vain for two particular kinds of birds’ eggs, the
parents of which I knew nested late. Besides time, I lost some pounds of blood by the
mosquitoes. How I did long for the winter sometimes!

While I had been devoting myself entirely to egging I lost nearly all the plants and insects, and,
worse than all, the high water prevented my getting fish. However, I have left zoological
interests in good hands, for Lockhart bids fair to be an enthusiastic naturalist. I have given him
my works on birds and mammals, that he may study at once. It was hard to give up the use of
them for next summer, but Lockhart will work much better for having them. I hope great things
from him.

I had expected great sport hunting ducks, with bow and arrows, while they were moulting, but
got no time for a regular hunt, though I killed several while after specimens.
 La Pierre’s House

August 1861

I left the Yukon with the boat August 8 and arrived here September 7, having come slowly. We
started with only some musty, dry meat for provisions but stopped for several days while the
Indian crew hunted caribou. They killed several, so that we had fresh meat for the latter part of
the voyage.

I got a few good fish, but little else. The birds had disappeared, and frost had driven insects to
winter quarters. I got sick of summer voyaging, and longed for snow and cold weather. Summer
in the north is very disagreeable to me after birds moult and the first frosts have spoiled the
specimen hunting. For personal comfort summer is far the most disagreeable season of the year.

La Pierre's House is situated in a hole in the west side of the Rocky Mountains. The bare
mountains rise some thousands of feet high on every side, the river escaping through a crooked
valley.

[88] Porcupine River-or Rat River, as it is called here, has pretty scenery in places. In two spots
it cuts through small ranges of mountains, its banks forming grand ramparts of rocks.3

On the banks of this small river (head-waters of Porcupine) are some large spruces, and a little
birch and balsam poplar, forming heavy timber here and there.4

In the low lands along rivers and lakes there is abundance of [89] wood (spruce and balsam
poplar) of good size, even much farther north than Peel's River, so there is no want of fire-wood,
3
“I am sorry I do not appreciate fine scenery, else I would be able to describe some of this that I see here. It inspires
me with some elevating feelings to look on these grand, ragged old Rocky Mountains, and I enjoy it, yet still I can
not remember the details of any scene that pleases me.”
4
I have seen some spruces here over eighteen inches in diameter, but not very high. There are much larger ones,
however, some three feet through, and fifty feet high. The largest poplars are not over six to eight inches, and the
birch much smaller. Near here I have also seen a very few stunted larches. The spruces are the hardiest trees next to
some species of willows. Birch and alder come next. I have seen no aspen poplar (P. tremuloides) here, though it is
found at Peel's River, where, too, small larches are abundant in places. I never fully knew how much I loved trees
till I found myself made melancholy by thinking of the bonnie oaks and other trees I remember so well at "The
Grove," while passing through ~ some of these almost treeless wastes, or everlasting forests of spruce. I used to like
evergreens best, but I fear the too constant view of spruces will give me a distaste for them. And oh! how I long to
see even the bare branches and shaggy bark of the hickory
of which great quantities are consumed. But less wood is burned at these northern posts than
would be supposed by outsiders, especially considering that it is nearly all dry spruce, entirely so
at Peel's River and La Pierre's House.

In the far north, especially near and among the mountains, there are large tracts where the wood
(all spruce) has never been large or thick, and withal has been entirely killed by fires. These
wastes in winter look woefully desolate. Nothing but bare, dead trees show above the sea of
snow. But these burnt woods are great haunts for the martens, and many a long "pipe" have I
traveled through them this winter at Peel's River, while trapping them.

Whenever I think of how little the cold affects us here, I am astonished more than at any other
feature in life at the far north. But more of this anon.5

5
As I am writing this on January 2nd, I find myself running off the track continually in telling of past events.
 La Pierre’s House to Peel’s River

Fall 1861
When we arrived here last fall we were detained several days by rain before we could cross the
mountains to Peel's River, where we were to meet the boats from Fort Simpson.6

We traveled some twenty miles in the rain the first day, sleeping (or lying awake) at night on the
sand and stones in a river bed, where we found drift-wood enough to cook by, though not enough
for drying our clothes. It cleared up and commenced freezing shortly after we camped, so that
sleeping in wet blankets and clothes was just a little chilly.

The next day we had alternately to plunge through wet moss, wade across small mountain
streams, swollen by the rain, and climb slippery banks, where bruised shins were rather plentiful.
Toward noon the weather, which had been fine, changed, and after a sort of thunder storm, with
the thunder left out, settled into a quiet rain, which changed first to a sleet and then to a snow, as
we got higher on the mountains.

Such of us as did not know the track had to keep close to those who did, for during a good part of
the afternoon there was a thick mist which hid any object fifty yards distant-a very common
thing on the mountains, and a rather dangerous one too.

After traveling between twenty-five and thirty miles, and getting a little tired, we found ourselves
with the pleasant choice [90] of passing the night without fire, in the valley below the last and
highest pass we had to make, or else walking over this mountain, beyond which the first camping
place was to be found, at a distance of three "pipes."7

Though the mountain looked most coldly white, we all preferred carrying on to attempting to
sleep in the wet; but after going about half way up the mountain, we found it snowing so hard
that Antoine (the Yukon interpreter who was in charge of the party) declared it unsafe to proceed
in the night, which was then falling, and we stopped and turned aside to a solitary thicket of
6
I had hoped to take the most interesting of my Yukon zoological collections across with me, and get them sent by
open water to Good Hope, that they might go out with the boats to Portage La Loche next summer. But we were at
last obliged to start in the rain, which made it unsafe , to take them, on account of the risk of wetting.
7
Original p. 90 footnote p. 90 “A ‘pipe’ is from five to seven miles.”
small willows, where we hoped to find dry sticks enough to boil a kettle of tea, the voyageur's
greatest comforter next to tobacco.

There were a very few willows, and not one over three or four feet high. And when a few very
small, dry sticks were produced by the Indians for making fire, I laid down a little discontentedly
in the snow and wet moss.8

But one who aspires to the honor of being a true "nor' west" voyageur must not, and a
philosopher who smokes tobacco will not, let such trifles trouble him seriously for any length of
time. So I took out my pipe, and having taken care to keep some touch-wood and tobacco dry,
soon smoked myself into a more comfortable state of mind.

After the small fire had been lighted, my chil-a-hsoe H' ok' hija9 came up, and throwing down
the large load he was carrying, began to abuse the other Indians for permitting his master, as he
called me, to sit by such a vile fire. After which he went off to appear again with a young stack
of dry branches and roots, and shamed the other lazy blackguards into helping him, till we had
the biggest bonfire that was ever made within many a mile of that place.

H' ok' hija then made me quite a comfortable and a dry bed of willow branches, so that by the
time I had drank a half gallon of tea, and had gotten, for the time at least, fairly warmed,.[91] and
slept comfortably after all, the more so, as the few inches of snow that fell on us in the night
made a warm blanket.10 But it was rather chilly starting the next morning, in our wet clothes.

High up on the mountain we found it hard frozen, and got on finely and when we reached the
highest part of the pass I turned aside and climbed to the. top of La Roche a Corrinne11 and
smoked my pipe while admiring so much of the fine scenery as the mountain mists permitted me
to see.

8
“and could not help thinking how much pleasanter it would have been, on that evening of September 9th, to have
sat on a certain lawn I wot of, among the trees and flowers, and smoked a tobacco cigar while listening, mayhap, to
a song instead of the grumbling of the Indians.”
9
Original p. 90 footnote: “An Indian who had been a sort of a servant to Kennicott at the Yukon, and still attached
himself to him.”
10
“[I] forgot all about the contrast between that and a night at home.”
11
Original p. 91 footnote: “A small peak he had so named the fall before.”
From La Roche à Corrinne to Peel's River we traveled down hill most of the way, and could have
reached the fort the same night by carrying on late. But it is a great breach of voyaging etiquette
to arrive late at a strange fort; so we camped within sight of Peel's River, and made amends for
our two vile, fireless camps, by keeping up, all night, such a fire as even voyageurs seldom take
the trouble to make.
 Peel’s River
Sept. 1861

[p.91] Next morning [Sept. 10] we arrived at the fort early, with the usual firing of guns and
noise that takes place on such occasions.

Two days later (September 12th) the boats arrived from Fort Simpson, and I got letters from
home, the latest of May 5th. I found that the supplies sent me last spring arrived again too late
for the portage boats; but those sent the spring before came in last fall.

Unfortunately the alcohol was mostly lost by the breaking of the bottles, and leaking of the tin
cans. However, I shall be much better equipped next spring at the Anderson than I have been the
two previous ones. And Mr. Ross at Simpson, and Lockhart at Yukon, will be fitted for an
effective campaign.

[p. 92] Peel's River Fort, once called Fort McPherson, is situated on Peel's River, about forty
miles from its mouth, though not above twenty miles from the nearest point on the Mackenzie. It
is close to the base of the Rocky Mountains.

[93] The river opposite the fort is nearly a half mile wide, but the current is slow. The fort stands
on a bank nearly one hundred feet above low water level of the river.

[93] Between the mountains and the Mackenzie the ground is low and pretty level, rather thickly
timbered with spruce, and dotted with innumerable lakes of from a few hundred yards to twenty
miles in circumference.12

Along Rat River the lakes are so numerous as to have gained it the name of bun-tah-kutchin
(land of lakes) from the Indians.

[92] The first rise of ground is within three miles of the fort, beyond which there is a level tract

12
“Along Rat River the lakes are so numerous as to have gained it the name of bun-tah-kutchin
(land of lakes) from the Indians.”
for some seven miles, beyond which again the mountains rise abruptly to a height of some
thousands of feet in a distance of perhaps five miles.

Beyond the before-mentioned elevated tract, [p. 93] which is quite level, except where broken by
a few narrow ravines, and which is sparsely covered with small spruces, now all killed by fire,
except in the ravines, the mountains show scarcely any trees, and the few seen are only to be
found in the ravines near their bases.

In voyaging for meat, or other purposes, either at Peel's River or the Yukon, one rarely travels
over one or two miles without coming to a lake or river, except it be on or near the mountains. In
fact, I do not recollect having made more than two portages of over one mile, except on
mountains, or at their bases. High up the Mackenzie, though lakes are numerous, they are much
less so than here, or in the Yukon region.
 Eskimos

At Peel's River a great many Eskimos come to trade their furs, and I saw nearly a hundred while
there. The men travel in the usual light skin canoes, while the women and boys, with the lodges,
dogs, etc., are in large, open skin boats, propelled by oars.

These Eskimos live about the mouth of the Mackenzie, going far out to sea for the whale hunt in
summer, and coming some distance up the Mackenzie to the wooded regions, where they spend
the winter in wooden huts. Their houses are constructed with no little art, and are quite warm,
even without fire. They are built partly underground, and, being quite dark, are lighted by lamps
of whale oil, placed in stones, hollowed out for the [92] purpose.

The houses are large, and each one is inhabited by a number of families. Many of the men are
very good moose and deer hunters, and they lay in a good stock of meat during fall and early
winter, for consumption during the middle of winter. The same home is occupied from winter to
winter.

I had expected to go with Mr. Gaudet to the winter home of some of those I saw at Peel's River,
for moose meat which they promised to give to those at the fort. But the track, on a small river,
was considered too bad for hauling meat such a distance (about one hundred miles), the water
having risen above the ice after the first snow, and remained unfrozen till the snow itself became
so deep as to make beating a track very hard work. I hope to visit Eskimo winter houses on the
Anderson, however.

I obtained a large number of Eskimo implements, all of which exhibited much more skill in their
manufacture than anything made by the Indians.

Mr. Gaudet (in charge of Peel's River Fort) has been very successful in his management of the
Eskimos, and in making peace between them and the Indians, with whom they have always been
at bitter feud, the two races killing each other whenever opportunity occurred. Gaudet speaks the
language of the Eskimo pretty well, and is looked up to by them generally with no little
reverence.
We got a quantity of very good meat from them, much cleaner than that obtained from the
Indians. The new fort built on the Anderson, where I am to spend next summer, is established
especially for the Eskimo trade, and they are expected to supply it with provisions after the first
year at least.

The Eskimos are far more clever and intelligent than the northern Indians, but at the same time
are much more difficult to manage. Unlike Louchioux Indians, who, until taught by the whites,
never steal, the Eskimos are the greatest thieves I ever saw.

Indians

From a little below Fort Good Hope, down the Mackenzie to the Eskimos, at Peel's River, at La
Pierre's House, down Rat River to the Yukon, and for some distance down the Yukon below the
fort, and up that river to old Fort Selkirk, and for some distance southwest of Fort Yukon-in all
this region there are Indians who claim some relationship with each other, and who speak very
nearly the same language. They are divided into fifteen tribes, however, which sometimes go to
war with each other.

The names of the various tribes of Yukon Indians are, in nearly every instance, taken from some
feature of their country, or rather, I should say, each tribe bears the name of its country in most
instances.

The country just about Fort Yukon is called kutch-a-kutchin (low country), and the Indians are
also called kutch-a-kutchin. By the whites they are called Gens du Fort (men of the fort). Another
tribe is called hun-kutchin (river country) ; another na-tslt-kutchin (outer land country). But I will
try to write an account of these Indians at more length than I can here.
 Dogs
October 1861

Peel's River froze over first on the 7th of October, which was the first really cold day of the
season. But the river soon broke up again, and continued drifting till about the middle of
October, when we first crossed it. At about this time the lakes were also frozen sufficiently hard
to bear a load, and then voyaging commenced.

At Peel's River there is probably more voyaging in [94] winter than at any other fort in the
district; for, in addition to the hauling of fish and meat, all of the Yukon furs have to be taken
hence across the mountains from La Pierre's House, and the outfit of goods for the Yukon and La
Pierre's House are crossed from Peel's River to the latter post.

Up to this time, or a week before, I had scarcely done anything beyond getting my dog-harness
arranged, my sled repaired and put in order for running, and making other preparations for
winter.xiv

Our dogs are other animals, I can assure you, than the little rats you see in the civilized world;
and a Newfoundland though large, compares with them, from his clumsiness, as a hippotamus
would with a deer. The original stock has probably been some large, strong dog, and they have
become hardier by a very slight intermixture with Indian dogs. Of course the best dogs are bred
from, and thus at last the general stock has come to possess peculiar strength and powers of
endurance.

This breed of dogs is now carefully kept distinct from the Indian dogs, or "peddies," as they are
called, even though they have originally been improved by an intermixture of geddie blood. The
geddies look a good deal like a fox, only heavier and stronger in every way. They are hardy to a
wonderful degree. Half geddies, and quarter geddies, are often good dogs. Two of mine are
quarter geddies, and one. of them, though very large, is almost exactly the shape of a geddie. He
makes a very valuable dog for a long voyage. My other two dogs are pure-blooded "Yukon
dogs," as a particularly fine breed, mostly found at that post, is called.
My four dogs are to me treasures beyond price. They form one of the strongest and best teams in
this region, and their fortunate possessor is held in much higher estimation in consequence than
[95] he would be without them. They bear the euphonious names of N o-qah, or carcajou, so
called because he is strong, and never tires; Tin-geuk, or moose, because he has a big head, and
can trot as fast as another dog will gallop; Vuht-sih, or caribou, because he is so active; and
Moos-taos, or buffalo, because his big shoulders call to mind that animal.

You will, very likely, see one or more of them in a little over a year. I have derived more
pleasure from my dogs this winter than from anything else. They are much more fond of me than
dogs usually are of their driver, though two of them often get their lugs warmed by my whip. N
o-gah, my foregoer, is as hard-headed as a pig, and very few can drive him except myself.
 Carcajous (Wolverines) etc.

The carcajous fairly drove me off my two first roads, breaking the traps as fast as I could put
them up. The rascally beasties, not content with breaking open the back of the traps to get out the
bait, would often demolish the entire trap, as if in spite, and certainly without any object except
its destruction.

After going around my roads several times, and finding that the carcajous were more industrious
than I was myself, and that they even broke down my strong carcajou traps, I deserted my first
roads, with the exception of about fifteen or twenty miles of one of them. On this, and another
road of ten or twelve miles toward the mountains, together with a few scattering traps, near the
fort, I got eighteen more martens, which made thirty-four in all, besides a number eaten by the
carcajous.

One of my best trapping grounds was on the elevated tract of burnt woods, between the fort and
the mountains, and I spent many an hour on it. From the middle of October to the middle of
December, indeed till Christmas, I seldom spent a whole day at the fort, and generally was off
voyaging or trapping long before daylight, not returning till after dark.

It took me from six to twelve hours to visit even my shorter roads, more or less, according as the
track was clear or full of snow, and as the traps had to be built up again or not, and very often I
slept in the woods. With a clear track, however, I went round my fifty-mile road in twelve hours
easily, riding and running.

We call it "riding and running" when going fast on a voyage,-with a light sled. We then do very
little walking, but, after riding on the sled till we get cold, jump off and run as hard as we can
make the dogs go until warm enough, and then ride a mile or two, and so alternately ride and run
all day. If the track be good, the dogs will easily make fifty miles a day in this way, and I have
seen that distance done in seven and a half hours-but of that more below. The dogs will keep
fresher, and run faster, when occasionally relieved of even so small a load as a man makes.

Usually, in going for meat, the driver rides through the lakes and runs or walks through the
portages j and even when returning with a load, with good dogs, he may often, in the best parts
of the track, sit [99] on his sled to take a smoke. If I am small and weak, so that I can't help my
dogs much, I have the consolation, at least, that I can ride over their load without its making
much difference to them; and I seldom finish a pipe without getting on my sled for a comfortable
smoke, the pleasure of which is enhanced no little by the opportunity afforded of chaffing the big
chaps with poor dogs, who must tape a pied toujours.

More Hunts

Though my marten hunt at Peel's River was better than at the Yukon, I got fewer foxes-only one
black, two cross, and two red; but since I came to La Pierre's House I have caught two more red
faxes. I killed three carcajous in wooden traps, but none visited my steel traps when set, and they
were too cunning generally to be killed by set guns. I peppered one well, however, by arranging
the gun aimed at a marten trap, so that in pulling down the trap he fired off the gun. He escaped
badly wounded, and I think will never pull down another trap.

Several times carcajous visited my set guns. Sometimes they would not touch the bait; and, in
two or three instances, they went behind the gun and cut the lines that tied it, or gnawed off the
line which attached the bait to the trigger, after which they ate the bait with impunity. I have
heard often of their doing this, but till I saw it myself could not credit it. After this I will believe
anything of a carcajou. They are certainly the most cunning of undomesticated animals.

Altogether I had plenty of amusement and hard work out of the trapping and voyaging. I only
wish my mental powers had been as thoroughly exercised as my physical ones during the past
winter; but the hibernation of my intellect has been profound. I would gladly start tomorrow and
walk two hundred miles in five days to feel as wide awake for one day as I did last spring.

And indeed, I would find the walking an easier task than I now do to perform the work I could
accomplish in one day with my wits thawed out. I am sure it is not alone laziness that puts this
stopper [102] per on mental exertion, for I never felt less dislike to physical exertion than I now
do. How willingly would I exchange all my physical energy for a very little of mental! But I
must use what little I have to better purpose than telling of that I have not.
 Making Medicine
and Deceiving Natives

About the middle of October I commenced the marten hunt. I chose an old marten road of Mr.
Lockhart's, who was formerly in charge at Peel's River, which made a turn and brought me back
to the fort without coming back on any part of my track. This road is about forty-five or fifty
miles long, and I eventually made about one hundred and fifty-traps on it.

The first time I visited it, to make the traps on one end, I lost my watch. As looking for it in the
deep snow was quite useless, I struck a light and sat down to smoke and conivince myself that I
was not very sorry after all a vulpine philosophy quite desirable in such cases.

Having concluded not to care for its loss myself, I had next to consider how I should avoid being
expected to make medicine for its recovery. For I must tell you that, very much to my
astonishment, and without any effort on my part, I found, on my arrival last fall, that the Peel's
River Indians held me in much estimation as a strong-medicine man, and as such I would be
expected to find my watch at once by "medicine."

I found my reputation for medicine too useful to wish to weaken it; so, on my arrival at the fort, I
talked mysteriously of the "big medicine" I had made on my marten road to bring martens to my
traps, by giving my watch to my "medicine spirit."

On my next visit I took a couple of Indian boys, who knew the track, and my dogs, and went
quite around the whole road, putting up all the traps. This took us three days. On this visit I
found a splendid black fox, killed by my gun, which I had set on my road. This I announced as
the first fruit of my big medicine.[96] whereat the Indians' respect for me increased, as they can
not kill faxes with set guns.

For nearly a week I did not visit my road, making meantime thirty traps in another direction. But
then, on going round it, I found nine martens; and immediately after I got seven on my first visit
to my other road. Then I boasted no little of my medicine. But pride must have a fall.

On the next visit to my long road I found that the carcajous had made sticks of every marten trap
on it, so I got not a marten; but one carcajou was killed in one of my wooden carcajou traps. I
found my other line of traps (then lengthened to about thirty miles, and containing over fifty
traps), all broken, also, and not a marten killed.

Then I went over my roads and made many carcajou traps (like marten-traps, but very much
stronger), and sleeping out one night, the Indian with me asked why my medicine faded me thus.
I told him that I had first taken the carcajou for my medicine (each medicine man has some
particular animal for his medicine), but fearing that I should kill off all the martens which would
be very bad for the poor Indians, I had dismissed the carcajou from my service; in proof of which
I called his attention to the fact that I had already killed a carcajou, and was even then making
traps for more. It might, therefore, naturally be expected that the indignation of the carcajous
would be shown by breaking my marten traps.

Seeing him duly impressed with a sense of my philosophy, without losing any faith in my medi-
cine, I further informed him that I had now taken the loche (a kind of fish resembling the cod,
and the liver of which is a great del:cacy), for my medicine; and, such being the case, that it was
an insult to my medicine for anyone less than a kah-kieh (master or chief) to eat loche livers in
my presence. My savage could not dispute the propriety of this, and immediately handed over to
me the whole of the loche livers he was even then in the act of roasting nicely at our camp fire.

Doubtless it was very naughty to tell lies by wholesale thus, and to "do" the savage out of his
share of the loche liver; but these Indians are so conceited about their medicine, which, they say,
almost no white man has, that I highly enjoyed making fools of them on the subject.

My reputation for medicine enabled me to do some good too. These northern Indians have few
diseases, but if one gets a little [97] sick he is pretty sure to die, for they are such cowards that
they fairly frighten themselves to death.

In two instances I cured Indians that were said to be dying, by small doses of tooth powder}
alum, and morphine; the morphine making them sleep, and temporarily relieving pain in the
manner I told them it would. This so increased their faith in my powers that they recovered
simply from believing in my assertion that they would get well.

I have had plenty of patients at Peel's River, and have been a highly successful doctor; but in
truth the use of drugs has done far less in effecting the cures than my reputation for Indian
medicine, which made the Indians believe whatever I told them.

The loche, of which I have spoken, is a curious fish. I think it is closely allied to the salt-water
cod. Some specimens seen at Peel's River were near three feet long. Their shape is more like that
of a catfish than of any other in our fresh waters. They are caught with hooks, in great numbers,
near Peel's River Fort, but the flesh is seldom eaten, even by the Indians, and dogs will not eat
them unless cooked.

They are usually taken only for their livers, which are very large, and consist almost wholly of
oil. I wonder if they would not be as beneficial to consumptive patients as cod livers. I told
Gaudet I thought so, and added that my father had once cautioned me to guard against disease of
the lungs. He, therefore, approved of our getting all the loche livers we could, and lest he, too,
"might be in danger of consumption" (he has lungs like a blacksmith's bellows), we both ate
about a pound each of loche livers daily, as long as we could get any. I fancy we would hardly
have followed so energetic a course of treatment, however, if cod liver oil had been the
medicine.

With regard to the present symptoms of the two patients thus treated, I observe that Gaudet's
voice is little less strong than that of a bull, and that I can make my dogs jump a yard or so by a
call when I am wex (vexed), as the Indians say. The only kind of consumption to be feared is in
the meat store and grease box.

But as "an ounce of preventive is worth a pound of cure" (though I ought here to say a pound of
preventive and a hundred weight of cure), I still pursue a moderate course of moose and caribou
tallow and back-fat, which I will follow up by a course of fresh deer tongues when I reach the
Anderson. As hydro-carbonaceous [98] substances are strongly recommended to consumptives, I
am inclined to think I shall "win through."
 Voyageurs’ Habits
A “Pipe”
I must here say a little in explanation of voyageurs' customs.xv On a voyage, where several sleds
go together, all go on without stopping or delay for from five to seven miles, when they stop to
smoke and give the dogs a spell, and the distance thus made is called a pipe, or spell. In speaking
of the stopping place, the voyageur always says, "where we smoked," or "where we spelled," or
"the end of such a pipe."

The stoppages are short, not over fifteen minutes, unless the dogs are very tired; and, where
going light, only long enough to strike fire and light the pipes. On well-known roads they are
always at the same place.

A voyageur who does not smoke, is a rara avis in terra. In boat voyaging the signal to the crew
to stop rowing or hauling the line for a spell is the steersman's cry of "allume!" which means in
voyaging lingo, "light your pipes!"

Mouche

At the end of each pipe the foremost sled goes behind the whole, and the second sled goes ahead,
and thus all in their turn make a "spell ahead," the front being the hardest place, as the first sled
has to beat down the soft snow, unless the track be hard; and even on a hard track the dogs will
haul better when another sled is ahead of them.

Many a warming haul have my foregoer Nogah's lugs gotten because he would not "mouche" (go
fast) when it was my spell ahead. When a sled can not keep up and take its proper place in the
brigade at each spell, it is said to be "planted," which is considered disgraceful; and a good
voyageur will push (i.e. help his dogs by pushing with a long pole always attached to the top of a
loaded sled) till he is nearly knocked-up, rather than be planted, even though his dogs are known
to be weak, or his load extra heavy.

Not to “give track” [100] is another disgrace. When the dogs of one sled keep so close to the one
in advance that the foregoer's traces slacken, the sled ahead is said not to give track;
consequently, in soft snow, the driver, whose spell it is ahead, nearly always uses the pushing
stick, and often so effectually as to "plant" a stronger sled, whose driver is too lazy to push hard.

My pushing stick is my fourth dog, for in ordinary trains there are but three. By the rules of
voyaging etiquette four dogs are not obliged to do more than three, so I manage to get on without
much “forcing” (hard work) when on a voyage, only using the pushing stick on bad banks.

The dogs at Peel's River work harder than any others in the district, and in meat hauling they take
larger loads. Five hundred pounds for three dogs is not an uncommon load at Peel's River. With
such loads, however, they only make twenty to twenty-five miles a day.

It is, however, easier for the dogs to haul five hundred pounds at a temperature about 10° above
zero, or 10° below, than to haul four hundred when it is 30° or 40° below, as in extreme cold
there is much greater friction.

If above 10°, it is too warm for the dogs as well as men.

In fact, about zero is the best temperature for voyaging with a load; and if "mouching," with a
light sled, 20° below is more comfortable and better than any thing warmer than zero;at least I
found myself and my dogs going best at from 10° to 20° below.

Flett, of La Pierre's House, an old voyageur, says he prefers 40° below.

Dogsxvi

The voyageur, be he English, Gaelic, Norwegian, or French, always addresses his dogs in a rub-
baboo sort of a language they call French here, and the epithets and terms of endearment
bestowed upon them are very comical. When a voyageur gets vexed at a dog he calls him a
"black frog," "little black dog" (especially if he is large and white), "geddie," "pig," "carcajou,"
ctc., etc.; but the expression they seem to think the most severe of all is "sacre chien mort" (dead
dog).

A good dog is sometimes addressed as "good man," "flyer," "the fool," etc.; and when a
voyageur wishes to bestow the highest praise upon one he says, "that's a dog!"
 Winter Water

One of the most disagreeable features in mountain voyaging is the water, that, in the coldest
weather, is to be found on the ice in the mountain streams. Not only does it cause great misery by
the accumulation of ice on the snowshoes and feet, but is sure to leave a coating of ice on any
part of the sled which enters it. Besides adding greatly to the weight of the load, if the wrapper
gets wet, it causes so much greater friction on the sled-bottom that it is almost impossible to get
on until every particle is carefully scraped off. The voyageurs usually carry a large knife for the
purpose of scraping the sled bottoms.

In early winter all the lakes and rivers are difficult to pass on account of water under the snow,
which, when deep, by its weight causes the water to rise above the ice.

The voyageur always carries extra shoes and double socks in [101] his muskamoot, that he may
put on dry ones in case he gets into the water, as well as to have a change for sleeping in. The
Indian shoes (moccasins) that we wear take water like a sponge, so that one has to be very
careful about getting wet; these shoes, when frozen, being hard to walk in.

When I go home I am sure I will find it very hard to wear the heavy, stiff “corn-planters” used
there. To wear boots here would be impossible, not only from their retarding the free play of the
joints of the feet and toes, which is necessary in snow-shoe walking, but also because they would
freeze the feet, unless many sizes larger than a fit. Even Indian shoes endanger freezing, if at all
tight, no matter how thick the socks under them may be.
 Starvation

Peel's River has of late years been considered somewhat of a "starvation post." This has been
owing to the death of many of the Indians, amongst whom were all the good moose hunters. But
Mr. Gaudet has imported a couple of good moose hunters, and by this and other means has
obtained so much meat and fish as to never want a prey.

This fall one of the fort hunters was sick, but the other procured for the fort sixteen moose,
nearly all large, and these, with the other provisions obtained, enabled us to live on the back-fat
of the land. I think I have already explained the peculiar significance of "preys of back-fat." The
word "fat" calls to mind a fact worthy, perhaps, of forming an ingredient of this rubbaboo-that is,
that among all the whites and half-breeds in this district, I have seen but two men who may be
called fat, and, in fact, the majority are decidedly lean, though generally strong and muscular,
after any lengthened residence here.

A diet of flesh evidently does not fatten whites, though best for creating animal heat and muscle.
The two exceptions are gentlemen whom circumstances have enabled to feed more on vegetables
than others do, while at the same time they take less exercise.

The Eskimos are all fat (I mean all the Eskimos are fat) ; I never saw a lean one, but neither have
I ever seen or heard of an excessively fat one. The Indians, though generally rather lean, are
often fat, especially the women, among whom I have seen some few excessively so. I have seen
some of the men much thinner than any of the whites here.

If what we read in books of the bravery and powers of enduance of the more southern Indians is
true, these are of another breed. Like their own geddies they endure starvation well, but in any
other desirable kind of endurance an ordinary good white voyageur is far beyond them. They are
very great cowards, and without the fortitude of a child. I have, it is true, seen a few exceptional
cases.
 La Pierre’s House
to Peel’s River and Back
Dec. 16-25, 1861

On the 14th of December the Yukon express arrived. Lockhart and Jones were well, and
Lockhart's zoological enthusiasm [p. 103] continued unabated.

On the 16th Gaudet and I, with a brigade of eight sleds, left this place for Peel's River, with loads
of the Yukon goods. The first day we went well, making five long pipes (about thirty to thirty-
five miles), though it was very cold, over 40° below zero, I think.

Gaudet and I sported fancy voyageurs' costumes, including big-horn (mountain sheep) skin
shirts, with immense capuchins or hoods of young caribou skin, all with the short summer hair
on. These, though too heavy for ordinary wear, are very comfortable in extreme cold, when
walking slowly; and they eventually saved us from no little misery.

My first winter camp in the mountains was a jolly one. With so many men to cut it, we did not
spare the firewood, and we did such good justice to the meat and supper that we afterwards had
cause to regret that our "prey" had not been smaller, or our appetites less.

Next day we made three pipes at a very good step, when, just as we were about to leave the small
river, up the valley of which we had come thus far to take the mountains, it began to blow so
hard that we were compelled to put ashore and finally camp for the night. A head wind in cold
weather makes voyaging very disagreeable anywhere; but a gale from any quarter makes it
impossible on the mountains, as the drifting snow prevents the finding of the way; and besides
the suffering from cold, caused by the wind, is very great.

Some well-trained old foregoers among the dogs will, however, often find the road across the
mountains when their drivers can not do it, and many a voyageur has been saved from much
misery, if not even death, sometimes, by the sagacity of his dog.

From the last camping place on one side of the height of land, to the first on the other, is a
distance of near thirty miles; and in winter this distance must be made without "putting ashore."
In spring the voyageurs sometimes sleep on the mountains without fire; and several places were
pointed out to me, high up on the mountains where unfortunate chaps, having lost their way,
have been obliged to dig a hole in the snow, and pass a long, midwinter night, till daylight or a
lull in the wind should enable them to distinguish the landmarks.

After spending one night in the camp last mentioned, (and a miserable one it was), we again
attempted to cross the mountains, [104] as the wind was a little less strong, and it had grown
much warmer. In fact, from this time till the end of the gale, it was quite warm for the season, not
below zero probably.

We had, however, only made two short pipes ere the gale increased to a perfect hurricane, the
like of which, in this country, is only seen on the mountains; and indeed this was the hardest gale
ever experienced by the oldest voyageurs among us. So we were forced to throw off our loads
half way up the first mountain and make our escape to the camp.

The rate at which we then went tearing down the mountain side, with the gale astern, brought
railroads forcibly to mind. The dogs were glad to turn and did not "air" themselves. There was no
"riding and running" then, I wot, for to get off one's sled was to insure being left far behind. I
was longer unloading my sled than the rest, and started last, and as it was impossible to see
twenty feet ahead for the drifts, my dogs, sled, and all, went straight over one unfortunate
individual as he lay on the hindmost sled, as a three decker in a gale would go over a fishing
smack; it did not hurt him much, however.

We had to keep a good grip of our sleds, and some who neglected to do so got fairly blown off
theirs. In one place where the wind took us sideways as it came down a "coaly" (ravine), several
of us, with dogs, sleds, and all, were blown clean off the ground and down the hillside for some
yards. Altogether it was the jolliest and most exciting race I have had since I last was on
horseback.

Hoping the gale would not last long, and disliking to turn back to the fort, we stopped at our
camp of the last night, Mr. Gaudet immediately sending a man off to the fort for provisions. We
had expected to reach La Pierre's House on the third day, and so only took two nights' "prey"
from Peel's River.
When we stopped at our second camp we put ourselves on short allowance, but in the night some
of the rascally geddies, of which one or two trains were composed, tore open our sled loads and
stole nearly all of the little meat we had remaining. So on this our third night we made a very
light supper, and then laid down to sleep in the worst winter camp I ever saw.

Next morning we awoke to find ourselves and the whole camp literally buried in a snow-drift,
which, however, had been so far useful that it had kept us warm. As the gale still continued, and
we would have been frozen in our exposed [105] position (the few spruces around us not
breaking the wind at all), we set to work making a better camp, which we not only enclosed by
high walls, but roofed over with blankets, sleds, and sled wrappers.

Despite the thick back of spruce brush, however, the snow drifted through upon us, and our
blankets and clothes got wet, the heat of the fire melting it upon them. Now Gaudet and I proved
the good qualities of our heavy shirts; for though they collected plenty of ice upon themselves,
till we looked like winter bears, they defied the wind and made us comparatively comfortable.

We had nothing to eat that day, and some of the green hands began to grumble, a little. But we
had a pretty good supply of firewood, and plenty of tea and tobacco, so I smoked, drank tea, and
joined the old voyageurs in their laugh at the mangeurs de lard (green hands). Late at night a
fresh man and dogs came from the fort with provisions, but by some blunder we had brought
only about a half day's "prey" for men and dogs. We made a good supper nevertheless.

The next day it blew as hard as ever, and a little after noon Gaudet and I, with three of the men
who had good dogs, started for the fort [i.e. returned to Peel’s River], preferring to make the
voyage there and back again for the sake of giving our dogs good food and lodging, rather than
have them lie without "prey" in the cold. Three others remained in the camp, as their dogs were
not fit for the race we intended making. With them, however, we left what provisions were
remaining.

Except for the last ten or fifteen miles we had a hard track, much of it clear ice, and we went
with the gale right astern. The dogs seemed to know quite well that it was a race for something to
eat, and carried on without needing any urging. We sat on our sleds most of the way, and had
quite a comfortable ride.
[footnote for p. 105: "Ursus Arctos-a barren ground bear-a species that is said to delight in
rolling itself in the water of mountain streams in winter until its fur is covered with ice." ]

We arrived .at Peel’s River fort before half past seven p.m. The distance, about fifty miles, we
could easily have made in an hour or an hour and a half sooner had the road been all hard, but on
the last part of the way we had soft snow, without any track, so that the dogs could not go faster
than a walk for much of that distance. My dogs came in quite fresh, with heads and tails up. In
fact, theywere all in what would be called fine racing order, [106] having long before worn off
any superfluous fat by hard work, and having eaten only one half prey for three days.

Flett (the post master in charge of La Pierre's House, and an old voyageur) tells me that he once
made the entire distance from La Pierre's House to Peel's River in twelve hours, and that, too,
with about one hundred pounds on his sled. He started about midnight, and arrived before noon.
The distance by the winter track is over one hundred miles. But he had a hard track, and it was in
April, when it is never dark, and withal he is so good a runner, or was then, that he seldom got on
the sled.

When we arrived we gave the dogs a resting, ate two suppers ourselves, sat comfortably before
the fire, and boasted of our dogs; while the three unfortunate owners of poor trains lay in their
windy camp that night and the next, and then crossed the mountains ere the provisions from the
fort reached them, going without eating at all for three days, one big mangeur de lard getting
well frozen to boot.

We, who returned to the fort, where we slept three nights, and still arrived at La Pierre's House
only one day behind them, laughed at them much to their indignation, as they seemed to think
they had suffered wonderfully. Anyone who expects much sympathy for such trifling misery in
this country will be left to wipe his own eyes. If one gets frozen, starved, or undergoes any other
misery on a voyage, he may expect ridicule, not condolence. To get knocked-up, unless it be
concealed, is highly disgraceful; and to have one's dogs knocked-up is nearly as much so.

We had arrived at Peel's River on the evening of the 21st and the wind did not fall until the
evening of the 23rd, when we immediately prepared to start, determined to mouche and reach La
Pierre's House in two days; but is was, finally, after midnight before we got off. It made little
difference at what hour we started though, for there were but two or three hours of daylight then.

Our brigade was only four sleds, as Mr. Gaudet was obliged to remain at the fort. We had to go
rather slowly, though running light, as the snow had so filled the track that we did not reach our
starving camp until near noon of the 24th. After feeding our dogs and ourselves, and making a
cache of our remaining provisions-for once across the mountains we would [107] easily reach La
Pierre's House-except enough for our Christmas breakfast and dinner, we laid down and slept.

Before midnight we had eaten and started again; and, taking up our loads where we had left them
on the mountain side, we carried on finely, reaching the first camping place on this side of the
mountain about noon, and here we "put ashore" for dinner.

We had crossed the highest part of our track over the mountains just at the first appearance of the
gray light in the southeast, which precedes the first real daylight by several hours at this season,
and here, about nine o'clock on Christmas morning, I stopped and smoked the last of my cigars
to the health and "conduction" of the family circle assembled at "The Grove," and to the "Mega-
theria," and then sang, "Do they miss me at home.”

But the temperature was more than 40° below; too cold for cigars or sentiment, so I got on my
sled, relieved my feelings by a yell, the like of which some of you mayhap remember, which
started my dogs off on a gallop, and rode down the mountain singing La Claire Fontaine and
other voyaging songs, to encourage my dogs, for dogs, and horses, seem to like singing, and
what the sounds I produced wanted in melody they made up in volume.

It is singular, that on the mountain tops it is warmer (in very cold weather at least) than in the
valleys between them. When we "put ashore" for dinner we found it intensely cold, and I froze
my fingers by handling the iron buckles in unharnessing my dogs.

My Christmas dinner you will hardly guess. The men with me had pemmican, which I dislike,
but one of them, by some lucky chance, had brought a large, fresh white fish. They chopped the
skin off this, and, cutting it up with an ax, boiled it for me, and it, with a pound or so of melted
moose tallow, and a few quarts of tea, a little weaker than would skin one's mouth, made up my
Christmas "festin." Like all Arctic "festins," it supplied in quantity what it lacked in quality.xvii
After dinner we determined to have some kind of jollification in honor of the day, and decided
upon a Louchioux dance, a form of exercise which is decidedly calculated to promote the rapid
circulation of blood. So we left our dining place quite warm.

We had still four long "pipes" to make, and would have reached La Pierre's House early in the
evening, had it not been that we had several times to pass through water, and were long delayed
scraping our sleds, etc. I got all my spare shoes wet at last, and my snow-shoes were heavy with
ice.

To walk in frozen shoes is hard work, and at last I broke both my snow-shoes. I began to be
alarmed lest I should get "planted" as I was then last in the brigade. I feared my dogs would find
it hard to haul me and the load, which was much larger than the others, so I tapped along as best
I could, till I was near knocked-up, and finally finished myself by helping my dogs up a long,
steep bank, at the top of which, fortunately, we smoked.

This was only two spells from La Pierre's House, and I determined to ride, planted or not. But,
on starting again, I found that my foregoer was mouching like fun, and he is so strong that when
he chooses to "put out" it makes a great difference; and, besides, the other dogs will always haul
harder when they see the foregoer mouch. So I kept up well.

I puzzled at N’ ogah' s eagerness to carry on until I remembered that last winter, before I got
him, he had made the voyage from the Yukon to Peel's River, and now probably knew he was
nearing La Pierre's House. Pretty good memory, that.

I corroborated this supposition as to the cause of his hurry, when. on the last pipe, Tin-geuk, too,
began to mouch, and howl to be off at every accidental stoppage. Though he had not been over
the mountains in winter before, he had several times been driven from La Pierre's House over
this [109] pipe.

However tired, good dogs will always carry on hard when they know themselves near a fort or a
camping place. So I walked and rode until rested, and on the last pipe I sat on my sled except
when running to warm myself, and smoked, and sung to my dogs, or chaffed the two voyageurs
then ahead of me, who, though walking or running all the time, having got far lighter loads, and
really good dogs that were, withal, arriving at their own fort, could still not give me track while I
sat on my sled.

We got to La Pierre's House about nine o'clock P.M. It grew intensely cold just then (the coldest
weather of the season, so Flett says,-probably 60° below) and, in my delight at my dog's
behavior, I forgot to rub my face, and run sometimes to keep warm, and so froze my nose and
cheeks. ButI kept this en cache, and so my first voyage over the mountains was a triumphant
one.

To ride on my sled (so long as I did not own to being tired) was creditable, as showing what my
dogs could do; but had the others known of my being forced to do it on account of fatigue, I
would have been laughed at consumedly, as I would have been also at getting frozen. It is very
comical, sometimes, to see the pains taken by the old voyageurs to cache a frost bite, or any
fatigue.

J ames Flett, an Orkneyman, an old voyageur, seventeen years in the service, at present acting as
post master, though without rank, and a brick, though a rather rough and unadorned one, is in
charge of La Pierre's House. He gave me an exceedingly warm welcome, even for this hospitable
country; and had evidently taken no little pains in fitting up a room, etc., for me, as I had
promised to spend some time with him.

Despite my large dinner I managed to eat a supper of caribou steak, back fat, tongues, bango, and
tea, that would have been three days' "prey" for one of you miserable outsiders.
 La Pierre’s House
Dec. 26-

The day after Christmas, Flett gave a Christmas ball, whereat were assembled the largest number
of whites ever seen at La Pierre's House, besides a dozen or so of Indians. The only
representatives of the fair sex present, however, were Flett's Indian wife and daughter, and the
wife of one of the La Pierre's House men.

In fact, the two Indian wives were by no means fair [110] to look upon, one was fat and the
other forty, aye sixty, for that matter. But Flett's daughter is a little beauty, and very fair for a
half-breed. I speak dispassionately, mind you, as she is only four years old.

The dancing was, I may say without vulgarity, decidedly "stunning." I should hardly call it
remarkably graceful. The figures, if they may be called such, were only Scotch reels of four, and
jigs; and, as the main point to which the dancers' efforts seemed to tend, was to get the largest
amount of exercise out of every muscle in the frame in a given time, I must confess that an
Indian boy and the fat wife were the best dancers.

The music consisted of a bad performance of one vile, unvarying tune upon a worse old fiddle,
accompanied by a brilliant accompaniment upon a large tin pan. All seemed to enjoy it and, as to
the dancing, I found as much amusement in it as I have done in that at some gatherings of "youth
and beauty" in the civilized world.

Next day I caught a red fox, and the following a second, since when no tracks have been seen
near; and this, with the hauling of a little wood occasionally, is the extent of my trapping and dog
driving since my arrival at La Pierre's House.

The place is much nearer the sea than is represented in Arrowsmith's maps,-not much over a
hundred miles distant, if so far. Its elevation must be at least some thousands of feet above the
level of Peel's River, which is but little above the level of the sea, as is shown by the fact that
there are no rapids in Peel's River below the fort, or from its mouth to the sea in the Mackenzie,
and the distance to the sea is not great.
But there must be a very great fall between this point and the mouth of the Yukon River, for,
though there are no very considerable rapids, except in the small river just below here, the
current is strong all the way in Rat River, and as far down the Yukon as it is known to the
Indians that visit Fort Yukon.

La Pierre's House is the smallest establishment in the [HBC’s Mackenzie River] district and has
but two men besides the one in charge. It belongs to Peel's River, and the two are, theoretically,
but one post, and both are under the charge of the gentleman at Peel's River. For this reason it is
generally known under the name of "The Small House," and [111] the Indians call it Kó-ah-ze
(little house).

It was formerly better entitled to the name than now. Then it consisted only of a small store for
meat and goods, and a very small dwelling house of two rooms, each about ten feet square. But
since Flett has been in charge, he has put up a larger dwelling-house, with two rooms, which he
has fitted up very comfortably.

Necessity is not only the mother of invention, but the best teacher of known arts, and these old
voyageurs learn to be very clever, and turn their hand to many a trade. It is an old saying that a
good voyageur with an ax, crooked knife, and a gimlet will build a house, make furniture,
prepare sleds, snow-shoes, etc., for winter, and, in short, make himself quite comfortable; and
with a saw, in addition, he will do all this work rapidly, and with ease.

Deer-skin parchment is the substitute for glass, and does very well. The chimneys are of mud.

The caribou are numerous on the mountains about here, and their flesh, fresh or dry, forms pretty
much the whole of the "prey" at "The Small House," and a good deal is given to Peel's River.

In the fall the small rivers about here are all barred with fences of willow wicker work, through
which an opening leads into a basket, and thus the fish are caught as they descend from the
mountains where they have passed the summer. In this way Flett caught five thousand blue-fish
in one basket, just at "The Small House," this fall, and in all obtained twelve thousand. One year
he caught sixteen thousand.xviii
The only species of mammals I have seen here in winter, are foxes, rabbits, and mice; of birds,
ptarmigans, and whiskey jacks. There are porcupines, deer, fur animals, and mountain sheep near
by, but I have no time to hunt them. Martens are difficult to kill in midwinter.

The ptarmigans are wonderfully hardy and care nothing for the coldest weather. I have many
snares set for them, but can kill very few, though they are abundant here. They are pure white,
except the black quill shafts, the tail, the bill, and the eyes, and sometimes a faint tinge of rose on
the breast. When sitting on the snow they are hardly to be distinguished. Their habits are not
unlike those of our prairie hens.

Cold-Weather Breath

I have several times mentioned certain degrees of cold. You will laugh at our substitutes for
thermometers. When at the fort I can always tell accurately if it be above or below 40°, or 32° by
trying if mercury or water will freeze; but the peculiar sound produced by the rapid condensation
of the breath (at 40°), the accumulation of ice upon the eyelashes, and the same on the
moustasche and on the beard, the falling of smoke in calm days, the different sounds produced
by a sled on the snow, and manv other signs serve to indicate, more or less accurately, various
degrees of cold.

The sound produced by the breath, in extreme cold, is very curious. It is precisely like that
produced by the crushing of a body of loose, dry snow that falls from some height as a house-
roof, or tree. When I first heard it, not knowing its origin, I was no little puzzled at not being able
to find the snow that I was sure I heard falling. The breath does not produce this sound at the
instant it leaves the mouth or nostrils, but after it has floated off to the distance of a foot or two.
It is [113] heard distinctly in a temperature 40° below zero, and louder as the temperature is
colder.

In the very coldest weather I observe a kind of mist in the air, often quite dense. In a clear, calm,
cold day a brigade of sleds in motion presents a curious spectacle, the breath of the men and dogs
forming a cloud which completely envelopes and hides them, so that, from a little distance, one
sees only a large cloud moving along the track, out of which come queer cries of "Sacre chien
mort!" "Sacre crapaud noir!" "Marche!" "Yeu!" "Chah!" etc., with the occasional "ta' ta" of a
whip, as loud as a pistol shot, and the call of the unfortunate dog that is getting his lugs warmed.

Hauling Wood

Flett and I amuse ourselves, and take a "constitutional," by hauling wood from about two and a
half miles off, in a temperature more than 40° minus now and again. Wood hauling is cold work,
however, as the dogs go slowly, from there being many banks to mount. A cord of dry poplar or
pine is usually taken at three loads. But on a reasonably good track three strong dogs will go at a
trot with half a cord of dry pine.

Wood is hauled on short, broad, sleds, provided with a high rack. The dogs seem to know, when
harnessed to a wood-sled, that no long voyage is before them, and carry on willingly.

Even, as I write this, an Indianxix has started with three of my dogs for a load of wood. He does
not know them, and seemed to think they were going to start off on a walk. At present they arc
tearing lip a hill, at a gallop, half a mile from here, while the surprised and "planted" driver is
tapping along far astern. I fancy he is he is willing to perceive a slight difference between my
team and the dogs he has been accustomed to.

Changeable Weather

The weather is more changeable here than at any other place [114] I have visited in the District.
High winds in cold weather are very much more frequent also. This is owing to the vicinity of
the mountains. The temperature often rises or falls 40° in twenty-four hours.

There is never an indication of what the weather may at the same time be at Peel's River (not
seventy-five miles off in a straight line), or even just across the height of land. Thus the gale of
last month, though raging at Peel's River and tearing bark roofing from buildings there, was not
here severe enough to blow even the snow from the roofs. With respect to temperature, rain, and
snow, it is the same.

At the Yukon the wind blew steadily from the north east for about a month during last October,
and now it seldom holds there steadily at one point for even one or two days. At the Yukon there
was scarce any wind in December and most part of January, and very little in February. What
wind there was in winter came nearly always from the northeast, and in summer from the
southwest.

Jan. 14, 1862.

I commence here to record events as they occur...

At this place, after the summer and fall hunt, few deer are killed till January or February.

Three or four days since some Indians came in to announce that deer killing had commenced,
and that sleds must be sent for meat.

The Indians are not permitted to disturb the deer near the fort at first, that they may collect in
large numbers until spring, when they are more easily killed, and the meat is thus obtained near
at hand.

In the fall the Indians hunt at a great distance, coming gradually nearer as the deer are driven off
from their vicinity, until at length in spring they are killed within a “pipe,” or even less of "The
Small House."

When I first arrived here the Indians had their camps about forty miles off-some even further.
Flett then gave orders for them to commence hunting in earnest at the first opportunity afforded
by warm or windy weather. This they did, and have already some twenty or thirty deer for the
fort, besides what they use themselves. At about this time they are to remove their camps to
within thirty miles of the fort, where the deer are still more plentiful. There are but twenty-seven
Indians, men and boys, that can hunt, belonging to La Pierre's House, and they all camp together
at this season.

They do not kill deer much in barriers here, but shoot them, either by stalking, "surrounding"
them, or "running" them. When the snow is deep in spring a single Indian has killed an entire
band of thirty deer in a day by running them down. With their large snow-shoes the Indians run
over the snow without sinking, while the deer go through the crust and get tired out.

Yesterday my dogs arrived with a load of five deer, not large ones, however, as the females,
which are fattest, though smallest, are hauled first. Two other sleds brought four each. The
average weight of the meat alone (without head, shanks, feet, or hide), of a female caribou here,
is about one hundred pounds; of a male, about one hundred and fifty pounds.

I saw one male here, though, that weighed, with the head and shanks, but without the hide, two
hundred and forty pounds; the meat alone was probably about two hundred. But while very large
males will weigh two hundred, some small ones will be less than one hundred. Young males of
the year a verage about the same weight as the old females; the young females much less.

Though I wished my dogs to go one trip for meat, that they might earn their prey, I shall, after
this, let them do no more work, except a little wood-hauling, to give them an appetite, and a trip
across the mountains, until I start for Good Hope, as it is desirable to have them as fat as possible
then.

Except Moos-taos, who, however hard he may work, keeps as fat as a pig, my dogs were very
poor when I arrived here, as they had been working constantly at Peel's River, hauling meat, fish,
or wood, whenever I did not have them off visiting my traps. In fact, for thirty days my dogs did
not rest one single day.

Even now they must haul a cord of wood every day, that Flett's sleds may be kept going for
meat. They will get fat on that, however, and I really am obliged to give Moos-taos less than his
"prey" to prevent his getting too fat. That's a dog!

A dog's prey is half a man's, and the same as a wife's-that is, four pounds of fresh meat, one and
a half pounds of dry meat, two fresh white fish, or two pounds of dry [116] fish. When not doing
anything but hauling wood, dogs are usually put upon half "prey," particularly if provisions are
scarce.

Jan. 15

I must describe minutely our life for a day. Last night I went to bed about two hours after
midnight, and got up this morning as much before noon, and that was, still, rising with the sun. I
was up for half an hour or so two or three hours before, when I lighted a fire, and calling Flett
into the room we had a smoke and a yarn about our dogs. His were then just being harnessed to
start on a voyage for meat with two other sleds, one of them with a weak train. I harnessed
Moos-taos and told the driver of the weak train to take him for a foregoer. Sandy, with the other
train, had started ahead and doubtless thought to plant Ross from the start; but I saw Moos-taos
at his heels ere he rose the first hill close at hand. The exercise will do Moos-taos good, as he
presents the anomaly of a hard-worked dog even too fat for a voyage; while at the same time I
will make Flett give my other dogs his "prey" while he is gone. I always did dislike being up
long before breakfast, and so I lie in bed until it is ready. This morning ours consisted of boiled
caribou rump, with a respectable show of back-fat.

When I am at table my dogs lie beside me, two on each side, and get their share of the meat; but
they are taught not to stir until we have finished eating.

After breakfast I harnessed my remaining three dogs and sent them off with an Indian for wood-
three loads. I then measured and skinned three rabbits and two ptarmigans, eating meantime a
dinner of caribou steaks fried in tallow. I then fed my dogs and admired them for a short time
while smoking my fifth pipe.

Then, before supper, I wrote some memoranda and instructions for Flett's use in collecting
specimens next spring, and talked eggs to him for an hour or so. Then, still before supper, I ran
about a half mile and back in my shirt sleeves, and without mittens or cap; but as it is scarcely
below zero to-day that was nothing very difficult. For supper we had a rib of a large caribou
roasted, and some "bangs"-cakcs made by frying a batter of flour and water in tallow, improved
by the addition of some pounded whitefish roe, which, doubtless, must be eaten here to be fully
appreciated. [117]

Since supper, which was at about ten o'clock, P.M., 1 have sung several songs, and written
several pages.

Jan. 16

This morning two sleds arrived from Peel's River. Seven moose that Gaudet had in cache where
they were shot, were found to have been entirely eaten by the carcajous. The caches must have
been first broken open by bears, however, as they were made of green logs too heavy for
carcajous to move. At any rate the meat was all gone, and the sleds returned light. As there was
no meat in the store, and very little fish left, three sleds were immediately sent across the
mountains to see whether there was plenty here, and to bring back some if possible. As the dogs
could not find the track the men left one sled, putting the dogs and load on the other two, and the
driver walked ahead to beat a track.

The prospect is good for plenty of deer here, so the two sleds will start in the morning with meat,
while one man and train of dogs stop here to haul meat from the camps.

If Gaudet's hunters do not kill moose at once, he will come across with all his sleds for meat
from here. But he writes that moose are plenty near the fort, though the extreme cold and want of
winds prevents his hunters from killing.

I left Peel's River in good time, as since then the dogs there have been starving, and those that
came across are as poor as rats. One of Gaudet's own train that came I have kept here to fatten a
little, while I have sent Vuht-sih in his place thus, too, enabling the driver to take a much larger
load.

Since I caught my last red fox, not a fox, wolf, or carcajou has been near here until to-night,
when I hear a wolf howling near by. It is not a pleasant song, that doleful wail of a hungry wolf.
He will be making a supper of one of our dogs if we don't keep them in doors. I have just set one
of my traps for him. I am afraid, if caught, he will carry off the trap faster than we can follow.

Wolves are very plentiful on these mountains, following the deer, and they often come almost
into the voyageur's camps. They carry off many a dog.

Today, though calm in the valleys, there was a high wind in the mountain tops, and each tall
peak had a white plume in its cap [118] -the wind, as it swept across one, drifting the snow from
its sun:mit far off andu~p into the air to the leeward, like a long, white streamer. This appearance
is the more striking, as the observer stands where there is no wind or drift.

The snow is far deeper here now than on the other side of the mountains. Yet in the last of
October there was near two feet of snow at Peel's River, when here there was not a foot. But
more snow usually falls here than on the east side, and much more rain in summer. This is a fact
long ago determined by the meteorologist, however, for the Rocky Mountain region farther
south.

The snow here is now about three feet deep. Far more than that depth has fallen, but of course it
has settled down considerably. Some years since the snow was six or eight feet deep here in
spring. It is never any thing like as deep as that at a distance far from the mountains.

Jan. 17

The wolf did not visit my trap last night. I probably scared him off while setting it. I have put it
in another place, where I heard him howling this morning. He is evidently wishing to taste dog-
mutton, but if he picks for the fattest, and gets hold of my Moos-taos, he will catch a tartar.
Moos-taos is not unlike a big black wolf himself, and fights like one, snapping quickly, again
and again, as geddies do, instead of holding on to his first grip. He is, despite his slowness, as
untiring as a wolf, too, and has run down and killed by himself a good many deer.

The Indian who raised and first owned him got six deer of his killing. When seen in the act he
was observed to fly at the deer's tongue, which hangs out when the animal is knocked-up.
Wolves catch the deer by the hind leg-by the sinews of the shank-and permit themselves to be
dragged along until the animal falls utterly exhausted by fright and fatigue, when they fasten
upon its throat. They generally hunt in small packs, or in pairs, though a single wolf will pull
down a large deer, and with ease, if the snow be deep.

Moose they kill in the same way, though the moose is much harder to run down, unless the snow
be very deep.

The Indians are still killing plenty of deer, and it is very hard for me to keep from going out to
the camps to have a hunt. But [119] I work so slowly now that I can not spare a day from my
writing, and the preparation of the few specimens I get.

Jan. 18

Singular weather for the Arctic regions. Yesterday morning it was mild, perhaps 10° below zero.
In the afternoon the temperature fell fully 20°, and again, before nine o'clock, P.M. rose some
30°, I should think; and last night and to-day it was probably not below zero, though growing
colder now (near midnight). Perhaps to-morrow it will be 40° or 50° minus.

In the north I have only observed these very rapid and great changes of temperatures at this
place. It is owing, of course, to the changeable currents of air caused by the mountains.

I skinned an Indian dog to-day. Queer beasties, these geddies, with heads very like that of a fox,
the little erect ears barely showing above the hair.

"Quach ey?" ("where is it?") is sometimes used by the Kutcha-kutch-in, as a strong and scornful
insinuation that the thing referred to is not. The voyageurs here adopt the word as being a strong
expression. There are several others in general use.

Et li láundy sáundy ("which way perhaps") is as universally used here as the Spanish Quien
sabe? ("who knows?") is in California and Mexico.13 Un jit in jäh "carry a big load after you
die!" is the only thing like a curse used by the Indians. But when angry they will roll it out in a
deep tone that makes the wickedest "sacre" or English oath, sound like a benediction in
comparison. If my dogs hear me say Un jit in jäh! they start quicker than at the crack of the
whip!

Forty degrees below zero. Yet the sleds went off for meat this morning, and one is home already
with a good load. An Indian who left here this morning has just returned after killing five
caribou. N azon nun Tel' an la! I had half intended to go with him, but was afraid if I once began
hunting I could not stop, and so I stayed ingloriously at home trying to write. But I "made
medicine" for Te t'an lii last night, and by chance predicted the [120] exact result of his hunt; so
what I lose in caste as a hunter I gain as a big medicine man.

Even now, as I am 'writing, I have given him another prophecy, which is to be fulfilled on
condition he gives me the tongues of all the deer he kills; and as it is calculated to encourage him
to hunt hard to-morrow, I confidently expect to eat deer tongues in a day or two.

13
Original footnote: “[Footnote for p. 119] "In writing Indian names the English alphabet alone is not sufficient, and
I have adopted the following: Ch as in German Ich (I) ; j as in French jour (day) ; n as in French garçon (boy); th as
in English thick; th as in the. Zug ä Zug ä is an expression of extreme surprise or disapprobation."
The head of an animal always belongs to the hunter, even when it is sold toute ronde to the fort.
In purchasing meat of the Indians it is reckoned in "skins of meat," as furs are in "in skins of
fur," but a "skin of fur" in goods is much more than a "skin of meat."

The Company pays the Indian very well for their provisions, besides often helping them when
they are starving. The popular cry against the Hudson's Bay Fur Company, of injustice to the
Indians, is totally unfounded. It is only raised at first by those who would like to come in here,
and with liquor and fancy goods get the furs themselves that the Company now gets, paying
useful goods for them. But they would send these tribes to perdition as fast as the southern ones
have gone, while the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company take no little pains to secure the
well-being of their Indians. And it is their interest to do so.

If any Indian belonging to the various forts I have seen is not always at least comfortably clothed
and fed, it is his own fault. To pay them higher prices for their furs would break the Company
without eventually benefitting the Indians, for then they would hunt so much the less. No Indian
that I have seen spends more than a very small fraction of his time in fur-hunting.

The deer are so plentiful now that we can afford to give our dogs an occasional festin of fresh
meat, and to-night mine feel very jolly. I think I enjoy seing my dogs eat well better than eating
myself. They earned their festin to-day, as they (only three of them) now haul about two cords of
wood daily.

In one way I am frequently reminded how very cold it is here. If one picks up a bit of iron with
bare fingers on one of these cold days, he drops it instanter upon feeling a pain like that of a
burn. I often freeze my finger ends by carelessly handling iron substances. If the hands or feet
are pinched by too small shoes or mittens, they are pretty sure to freeze. I have slightly frozen
my hands several times by carelessly grasping some substance too [121] hard even when they
were covered by warm mittens. In consequence, we look more carefully to having clothing loose
than its thickness.

My ordinary dress about the fort is a flannel shirt under a cotton one, a pair of flannel drawers
under cord or deerskin trousers, a single duffle sock under moose-skin shoes, and sometimes a
slight cravat, which, however, leaves my throat uncovered; no coat or waistcoat, and not often a
cap or mittens on, unless it is very cold, and I am out-doors over ten or fift.en minutes or must
use my hands. More than this I never wear indoors or to walk about the fort in, as when feeding
my dogs, meeting anyone arriving from a voyage, helping to un~arness newly-arrived dogs, etc.,
etc.

If I am goIng to a little distance, as to haul wood, or visit my steel traps, I add to my ordinary
dress a capot, leggins, a light muffler for my face in very cold weather, cap, mittens, and warmer
shoes and socks. But, indeed, I can not recollect more than two instances when I was dressed
more warmly than that this winter. In two voyages I wore a bighorn-skin shirt instead of the
capot. And you must remember, too that I am far less hardy than is usual amongst the voyageurs.

You write as if you thought I dressed only in the warmest furs; but we can not afford to wear furs
here, as we have to send them all out to keep you unfortunate Southerners from freezing your-
selves to death. I wear a light otter-skin cap (I had a beaver cap, but it was too heavy and warm),
and my mittens are trimmed at the top with beaver. There is no other piece of fur about my dress,
unless you call the hair of the abovementioned shirt fur, or consider my fire-bag as part of my
dress, as perhaps It IS '. It (the fire-bag, used for carrying flints, steel, touch-woo?, pipe, knife,
etc., etc., by all voyageurs, in place. of poc~ets) IS. m~de of a fine, large marten skin, and is the
bonniest one in the district.

I would like to see somebody, wearing one of the heavy dresses you seem to imagine we use,
take a small run of twenty miles with me. I would knock him up and "plant" him far enough .the
first "pipe." It is only the extremities that require warm clothing. Dressed moose and deer skins
are very warm, because they keep out the wind, and are very soft and flexible.

The Indians are, in winter, dressed more warmly than the whites, wearing shirts and trousers of
summer caribou skins with [122] the hair on. They are, however, generally more easily frozen
than the majority of whites here. Flett, of this place, in seventeen winters' voyaging, was never
once frozen, although I know he has been even more exposed to cold than is usual. He has
voyaged many winters on these mountains, and in all sorts of weather.

I opened the door just now, and instantly a cloud of vapor seemed to roll in waves along the floor
from the door to the fire while a similar cloud passed out at the top of the open door. i observe
this phenomenon always in cold weather, when a door is opened into a warm room. It is caused
by the mixing of two atmospheres of such different temperatures, but I do not understand why
the vapor takes the form of waves.

Jan. 21

I flatter myself I am learning to curb my temper. For some days past I have been skinning a
number of fishes, and had some two dozen fine specimens soaking in alum and saltpetre solution
to prepare them for preserving dry. Last night, when I wished to label and put them away, I
found them frozen in the kettle of brine, which, though standing within two feet of the fire, was
not accessible to its direct rays. I carelessly hung them above the ~ront of the ~replace, and this
morning found them nicely cooked into a fish-skin rubbaboo j not only was my labor lost, but
worst of all, I can get no more as good specimens. A few years ago such a loss would have made
me very angry. Now I smoked my pipe and laughed with Flett at my misfortune. Wonder if this
goes farthest to prove me a philosopher or an idiot. Wonder if idiocy and philosophy are not
mistaken for each other now and then. And I wonder-but I must stop wondering, and go into the
meat-store and bring in more fish to thaw.

Jan. 22

It has been 40° below zero for the two days last past, and to-day is much colder. Mercury freezes
in the direct rays of the sun at noon; and just now, when I brought a [129] small piece into the
warm room it remained as hard as a piece of lead for ten or fifteen seconds.

Some water standing on the table at which I am writing is frozen. The table protects it from the
direct rays of the fire, and I have to keep the ink on the corner nearest the chimney. Meanwhile, I
write comfortably

Indoor dress I described a few days since, and was just now out of doors in the same dress,
without mittens, for ten minutes or more, showing Flett the freezing of mercury, and examining
with him some of the fine back-fats on the caribou-rumps in the meat-store.

These same caribou back-fats are aste-Ne il-la. I suspect it is in our large "prey" that the secret of
our easy endurance of cold mainly lies. Starvation in cold weather is not fun, though a little
starvation in summer, or mild weather in winter is no such very terrible thing to us carnivorous
animals.xx

Jan. 24

Have I mentioned the great distance at which, in cold weather, we hear voices and other sounds?
Especially here, on the mountains, a man's voice is heard at a very great distance. There is a
steep, bad bank to rise a little over a "pipe" from here, fully six miles, I should think, and several
times, during cold weathe:, I have heard the men's voices distinctly, as they called to their dogs
while they were rising this bank.

Even to-night, when it was comparatively warm, Flett heard Sandy call to No-gab by name,
while rising this same bank. Now it so happened that Sandy remembered that it was the last loud
call he had given to No-gah until rising another bank close here; thus there can be no mistake.

I did not hear this, but the other night I heard Ross call to his dog Carlo at the same place, and by
going out frequently to listen I could tell when each sled passed each of the other bad bank;
nearer here (but still several miles off), by the voices of the drivers and the names of the dogs.
Indeed, they tell of hearing the sound of voices, and of axes in chopping, at the most wonderful
distances in extreme cold.

Flett says they one night [130] heard chopping in the direction whence the Peel's River sleds
come, and next morning sure enough a brigade arrived from Peel's River, and said they had
camped at a place which is certainly over twenty-five miles from here! This was in intensely cold
weather.

Flett, whose word is reliable, also tells me he once heard the men calling to their dogs at a place
two and a half long "pipes," fully thirteen miles, from here. He ascertained the exact point by the
time of day, etc.

Sight, as well as sound, deceives the Southerner very much here. From Fort Resolution to a point
of woods across a bay in Slave Lake, the distance is, I learn, twelve miles (measured on ice by
Dr. Richardson, or some other traveler), and from the Fort this, I remember, looked nearer to me
than "The Grove" used to look from a point only two or three miles off.
By the way, this twelve miles was by the voyageurs considered one very long "pipe," though
sometimes made in two short ones when they had heavy loads. This would indicate that the
average length of a "pipe," or "spell," is more than five or six miles, at which I have usually
calculated it.

Gaudet and others who have voyaged a good deal there and here, tell me that the "pipes" made at
Slave Lake, Fort Simpson, and Fort Liard are much shorter than those we make here, as the
"days" are also, Peel's River is the place for voyaging comme it faut. They make longer days,
haul bigger loads, and go over worse roads, than at any other post I have seen, to say nothing of
the fact that they do not often stop for the very coldest weather, while at other posts they seldom
haul meat in a temperature of more than 40° below zero.

Faith, I would be very glad to have it 40° below all the time on my voyage up to Good Hope, on
condition that it was never more than that, and calm all the time. They say the big river is very
bad for cold and wind, and I shall have, I fear, a very heavy as well as terribly bulky load. But
my dogs are dogs! and we will "rnouche" very likely, after all.

In speaking of our own endurance of cold, I have neglected to mention how little our dogs care
for it. When well fed, or fat, my dogs will often lie out of doors in the coldest weather rather than
stop in the house. All three remained outside all of last night, when it must have been 50° or 60°
below zero. But they had made a supper of all the fresh meat they could eat, fully [131] eight
pounds each.

Though a dog's "prey" is but half a man's, he would, when working hard in cold weather, eat
more than twice that much. The Indian "geddies" are often left tied to trees out of doors in the
coldest weather. Many dogs will never come near a camp-fire on a voyage.

A good deal of fine snow fell from a cloudless sky to-night. This phenomenon is not uncommon
here, especially in the coldest weather. About one-sixteenth of an inch fell, however, from a
perfectly cloudless sky, on about the 12th of October, at Peel's River; and I first observed the
occurrence of this at Fort Simpson, in November.

I have noticed this phenomenon many times, but always in the early part of the night. I do not
remember having seen it once during the day nor the latter part of the night. The mountain mists
(perhaps more properly Arctic mists), observed in excessively cold weather, are very different
phenomena. I believe I mentioned the occurrence of one of these frozen fogs on the Yukon one
day, when, if I remember aright, it was about 50° below zero by the spirit thermometer there.

Jan. 25

To-night it grew cloudy and became suddenly much warmer (mercury would not freeze to-night,
though it did after noon), probably not more than 20° below zero at dark, and it is now snowing.
From the 19th till to-night the temperature has not once been above the freezing point of
mercury. But the coldest weather of the season, as yet, was Christmas night. Generally, however,
the coldest weather commences, here and at Peel's River, about the first of January, and
continues through the month. February is here considered to be colder than December.

This year the weather has been different from that of ordinary seasons. At Peel's River it was
exceedingly cold, while the greater part of January, up to the 19th, was mild. During the past
seven days of cold weather there has scarce been a breath of wind, and during the previous seven
mild days there was a good breeze on only one day.

I am surprised to find that there are some very large spruces here. The ridge-pole of this house,
which I had supposed was in two, is in one piece, twelve inches square, and thirty feet long.
[132] Flett, who squared it himself, says the tree was two feet nine inches in diameter above the
stump, and the top, beyond this thirty feet, was about fifty feet long, giving the tree the height of
nearly ninety feet from the ground.

Flett tells me there were taller trees near this one, though none thicker in the trunk. They grow on
the small river at the base of the mountains, within a short "pipe" of this place.

Jan. 27

This morning, by way of exercise-of which I have had too little lately-I took a wood-sled (there
being no voyaging sled not in use) and went with my dogs for two deer, not a "pipe" from the
"Small House," I piled the meat into the sled as I would have done cord-wood, and came back
with my load of three hundred and twenty-five pounds in less than two hours. That's the way to
fill the meat-store! Good fat deer, too; one of them was a large male, that alone must have
weighed over two hundred pounds, without legs, head, or skin, which the Indians took.

It has been warmer to-day than for over a month-I was about to say it must be above zero; but,
before doing so, I just went out of doors and made various experiments, from the result of which
I judge the temperature to be considerably below zero; nor was it much higher in the middle of
the day, when, however, I found it uncomfortably warm while running behind my load without
mittens or capot.

The Indians in calling their dogs to them cry, se-lik! se-lik! tseh! tseh! dwelling loud on the first
syllable of se-lik and uttering tseh very short and quick. Se-lik may be rendered "my dog," while
tseh is not properly a word, having no other meaning than that of a call for dogs.

Both Eskimos and Indians whistle sometimes for their dogs to come, not with long, high notes,
as we do, but with a rapid succession of short notes, on a low key, though loud, not unlike the
notes of some birds. I never heard these Indians use any words in calling their dogs, signifying
"here" or "come in."

The voyageurs, of whatever nation, speak French to their dogs almost invariably. To call their
dogs to them they cry, mon chien! vien ici! My dogs will all come to their harness as soon as I
shake it and thereby ring the bells. Some of the [133] various words of command to their dogs
are-spelled as they are pronounced here-march! (go on) ; wo! or who! (stop); ye! or y'u'i! (to the
right'; chaw or chd! (to the left).

Jan. 28

Until yesterday I have for two weeks not walked five miles in a day. The consequence of this
want of exercise has been to make me lose all appetite and strength, and feel about half sick.

To-night I was struck with my unusual sensitiveness to cold. I went this afternoon about ten
miles on the road toward Peel's River to beat the track for Mr. Gaudet, who I expected would
arrive to-night, and, though the temperature could not have been over 200 below zero, I was very
near getting frozen, and found even my body cold; besides, I got very tired, though I rode most
of the way.
So I must e'en take to violent exercise and full "prey" again, for in this condition I would make a
bad voyage to Good Hope-knack-up and freeze like a rat, very likely.

Jan. 29

Getting ready for crossing the mountains. Gaudet, with one of his men, came in this morning.
Had I gone as far as I first intended last night, I should have met him. It was dark, and his
foregoer could not find the track, as it was hidden by drifting snow; so he had to camp within
three "spells" of the "Small House." My foregoer will find an old track like a carcajou, under a
foot or more of snow.

Short commons at Peel's River—only two moose brought to the store since I left, and provisions
about all finished; dogs getting very little to eat.

Gaudet started nearly two weeks ago, but was stopped by wind again on the mountains, starved
four days in his camp, and then turned back to the fort and took a fresh start the day before
yesterday. Winter voyaging is fun, but no where is the world "all beer and skittles." Gaudet is a
true nor'wester, however, and such things never trouble him.

Jan. 30

We leave here to-morrow. Two sleds were sent off to-day with provisions for Peel's River.
Gaudet and I, with Le Beau, take large loads. I have two hundred pounds of fresh meat, [134]
besides a large case of eggs, and lots of other specimens, with clothes, etc. Le Beau has the dry
meat for the packet men for Good Hope. I expect to knock-up the first day-cookah senny ka-
kwa-thut. I will ride on my sled if my dogs are strong.
 Peel's River
Jan. 4-Feb. 11 1862

We left La Pierre's House on the 31 st of January. The snow was deep on the other side of the
mountains, and we only made four "spells" the first day. It was mild, and yet I froze my face and
neck. We had a good camp, although we arrived late and got but little sleep.

Next day we crossed the mountains, on which we had to pass over nearly bare ground, the wind
having swept off the snow. As none of our dogs knew the track well, and there was no trace of it
left by the wind, I walked ahead of the dogs a good part of the way, leaving them to follow me.

The mountains will sometimes be covered with a foot or two of snow one day, and the next be
nearly bare. Our sleds were injured by the sharp stones, with two quite spoiled. Mine, luckily,
was thick, and has been repaired. It will still do very well.

The highest point we pass is just above what is known as the "shoot." Here we had to rise a very
long, steep hill which requires all the dogs to bring up one sled, and hard work at that. My sled
was taken first, and I "forced" so much as to completely knock myself up. So I stopped on the
top while Gaudet and Le Beau brought up the others. I was very tired and warm, and, throwing
myself down on the soft snow, fell asleep at once. So I had a sleep on top of the Rocky
Mountains.

I have not experienced the tendency to sleep in very cold weather, which is spoken of by writers.
After very severe exercise, and when very tired, I often fall asleep for a few minutes, in either
cold or warm weather; but the cold soon awakens me if the temperature be low. After a day's
exposure to great cold, one of course feels drowsy on entering a warm room.

We camped two nights; that is, we took three days for the voyage to Peel's River, arriving here
rather late.

Since then I have worked on my collections and trapped a wolf, but have not got a chance to hunt
martens.
[135] Mr. Gaudet has added to the load of personal obligations I am under to him by giving me
his dog Dimah-(Eskimo, "sufficient," or "plenty"). He would not sell him for any price, but at
last gave him to me. I have given him my poorest dog, Moostaos, to put in his train. Dimah
(whom I shall now call Tin-geuk) is the best dog in the district, and is very good-looking, too.

Flett had a young dog (of the same breed as my Vuht-sih, and some others that I know to be
good), of great hardiness, size, and strength, and active withal. I got him in exchange for my dog
Tin-geuk, who, though very good, kept too low in flesh for my long trip.

Poor Tin-geuk! It was hard to part with him, but he would not have been a safe dog for my
proposed long trip, and he will be better off with Flett, where he will always feed well.

Old Moos-roes was too slow for my other dogs, and before I drove Dimah I liked him well; so I
don't so much regret parting with him. All my dogs were originally from the Yukon.
 Appendix 1:
Arctic Fresh-Water Fishes14

A word about Arctic fresh-water fishes. In the Yukon and Peel's River region the salmonoids
(true salmon, trout, whitefish, and allied species), comprise about two-thirds of the whole
number of species, and probably nine-tenths of the individuals. In S!ave Lake the salmonoids are
perhaps less numerous in proportion.

1. There are two species of true salmon common in the Yukon, and the fishermen say there is a
third, which I did not see. The longest is an immense fish, large specimens weighing over fifty
pounds. I saw one weighing fifty-two pounds. When ascending the river they are exceedingly fat.
At Fort Yukon they are caught in a kind of hand-net by men sitting in canoes. It is a very
difficult operation, and I saw but two persons (an Indian, and Antoine, the interpreter) about Fort
Yukon that could catch them. They will not take the hook in the Yukon. Far up this river the
Indians kill them in immense numbers, in shallow places, by standing on rocks and spearing
them as they pass. Large numbers of dry salmon are brought down to the fort, where they serve
for dogs' "prey" in winter.

2. The second species of salmon is very much smaller, and ascends the river a little later than the
large ones, which pass Fort Yukon in July. They are not considered eatable, even when fresh, by
whites or Indians, and dogs can only eat them in small quantities when cooked. A large one
weighs ten or fifteen pounds, I should think.

3. The third species is said to be of a brighter red color, and is considered better eating even than
the large one when fresh. They are smaller that the last, and differently shaped. Flett says while

14
Origianl footnote, p. 128: ''The specimens of the above fishes, collected by Mr. Kennicott,
were for the most part lost in transportation, so that their scientific names can not now be given.
It is hoped that they may be identified by Mr. K's descriptions when the Yukon fishes of the
Russo-American Telegraph Expedition are worked up. It may be here remarked, that had Mr.
Kennicott lived, these journals would have been published in a very different shape. As it is, the
committee, being unfamiliar with the country treated of, have refrained from making alterations
in the manuscript, which might lead to error." ]
at the Yukon he once saw large numbers of the small red salmon taken in nets in September and
October. It would appear from this that the species does not go so high up the river as the others
do, to spawn. Flett, who is reliable, says it is a very different fish from the other salmon. They
are rarely seen at Fort Yukon, and only in autumn. I have not heard of salmon occurring in this
region, elsewhere than in the Yukon waters. I found two of the largest species lying dead on the
beach far up Rat River, and the small one ascends (rarely, however) even the small river to this
post. I have two taken here this fall.

4. The large trout of Slave Lake closely resembles the Lake Michigan species, at least so far as I
can remember the latter. I have only heard of it in the vicinity of Bear and Slave Lakes. I can not
hear of it at Peel's River, and there is no trout in the Yukon waters, where it seems to be replaced
by the salmon.

S. There is a small trout found in some mountain rivers and lakes near Peel's River, and in one
lowland lake between Peel's [124]

1. There are two species of true salmon common in the River and the Mackenzie-all tributary to
the Mackenzie, however. It remains throughout the year in these rivers and lakes. Indians are
now killing them near here. It much resembles the large trout of Slave Lake, but is very much
smaller, and somewhat different in coloration. A large one weighs less than ten pounds. I heard
of a trout, said to be found in a mountain lake north of the Yukon, the waters of which flow north
into the sea. This small mountain trout of Peel's River region is taken by hooks, in nets, and in
basket nets, like the salmon nets of Yukon. The large Slave Lake trout is never found in rivers,
even the Mackenzie, except when quite small.

6. "Blue-fish" (Thymallus signifer Rich.), a small mountain salmonoid, resembling somewhat the
little brook trout of the United States, but with the dorsal fin of great size and much elongated,
head same shape as a trout's. Exceedingly abundant in the small streams of the Arctic Rocky
Mountains. It is found at the Yukon, and, I believe, at Fort Simpson. It seems properly a
mountain fish, however.

7. Broken-nosed white-fish' (Coregonus). I believe this is the most abundant fish in the north, at
least in the Yukon, Peel's River and Slave Lake. At Peel's River and the Yukon it is abundant in
many small lakes, and in all rivers; Those taken from the lakes have firmer flesh, and are
generally considered better eating than those of the rivers. They enter the small lakes at the first
breaking up of the ice, usually returning to the rivers in August. About the last of October, after
the ice sets fast, they run down from the shoal streams into very deep water in the great lakes or
rivers. At Peel's River they spawn in October, just before running down into the Mackenzie.
They do not spawn in the small lakes to any considerable extent, though from the breaking of the
ice until August these are their favorite haunts.

8. Sharp-nosed white-fish (Argyrosomus?). Abundant at the Yukon, Peel's River, and Slave
Lake. This species seems less fond of small lakes and shallow rivers than the preceding, keeping
more to the large rivers. Thus, while in July the "broken-nose" may be found plentifully in small
rivers, this will not be seen there. It spawns a little later than the "broken-nose," and the roe is
lighter colored. These two white-fish are nearly the only

fish consumed in winter at Peel's River and the Yukon, and comprise by far the largest part of
those used on Slave Lake. Besides these, in summer, however, a few inconnus and salmon are
taken at the Yukon, a few inconnus only at Peel's River, and a great many suckers, trout, and
inconnus, on Slave Lake. At La Pierre's House, blue-fish, with a few "mountain fish" and
suckers, are the only ones taken. At Big Island, at the foot of Slave Lake, an almost unlimited
supply of fish may be taken throughout the year in some small lakes, as they run in during the
spring freshets, and are unable to escape. Thus there are nearly always some small lakes where
they are taken in winter with nets, under ice, at almost every post. (By "small lakes," I mean
those of from fifty yards to two or three miles in their greatest diameter.

9, 10, 11. In coming up Rat River, last fall, I found two species of white-fish, different from the
preceding. They were taken in a river flowing from the mountains (neither the "brokennose" nor
"sharp-nose" are found in mountain streams or lakes) ; one was large, somewhat resembling the
"broken-nose;" the other small, and more like the "herring" of these waters. They were both
unknown to the Yukon fishermen. And in Slave Lake there is at least one kind of large white-fish
quite different from the two common ones. I did not see it, however, except in one instance,
when I did not examine it closely.
12. "Herring," a very small fish, resembling the white-fish, and found at the Yukon, Peel's River,
and Slave Lake, not abundantly, however. It is not found in mountain streams.

13. "Mountain-fish." This is a very curious little salmonoid, with mouth and fins like those of a
white-fish, an acutely pointed conical head, long, sub-cylindrical body, and with the fins (except
the dorsal and caudal) of a reddish color. It is strictly confined to mountain streams, more so than
the blue-fish, passing down into somewhat deeper rivers to spend the winter. How far down
these and the blue-fish may. go in winter I can not say.

The blue-fish pass the small river at La Pierre's House in the largest numbers just at the first
appearance of ice, about the last of September. The mountain-fish pass down nearly six weeks
earlier, and yet, a little below La Pierre's House (perhaps fifty miles), in deeper water, the two
species pass together. This seems to [126] indicate that the "mountain-fish" do not go far

I can not learn that this "mountain-fish" is found in any other locality than in the streams fowing
from the Rocky Mountains, within or near the arctlc circle. It is, however, .found in the
mountain rivers flowing to Peel’s River, as well as in those tributary to Rat (or Porcupine )
River. This, with the blue-fish, is taken in a stationary basket, placed below an opening in a
wicker-work barrier across a shallow part of the small rivers.

. 14. Inconnu (Stenodus Mackenzii). The body of this fish is stouter and less compressed than
that of a white-fish, and the h:ad IS very long, with very large mouth, resembling that of a pike.
In the fins and. coloration it is like a white-fish. It is, probably, more nearly allied to the white-
fish than the true salmon or even trout. It is one of the largest fish of the northern fresh waters,
being exceeded in weight only by the large salmon of the Yukon, and trout of Slave Lake. A very
large one taken at Peel's River, some years since, weighed forty pounds, and must have been
longer th~n the largest trout or salmon.

Last year Mr. Gaudet weighed an inconnu, taken at Peel's River, which weighed sixty-two
pounds; and he tells me he saw a good many others nearly as large. This was in summer, when
this fish is fattest. This fish belongs to the great lakes and rivers.

Though it may be seen In some of the smaller rivers, it is never found in the small lakes and
shallow streams where white-fish abound. It even leaves Peel's River in winter, passing down
into the Mackenzie. It is scarcely ever found in mountain streams even near large rivers. It is
found of the largest size at Peel's River, and is abundant In Slave Lake, but is much less
numerous in the Yukon than in the waters of the Mackenzie, and there too it is far smaller than it
is east of the mountains. Perhaps the Yukon fish may prove specifically distinct.

They are not as good eating as the white-fish, though considered nearly as good at two posts Peel
s RIver, and Fort Rae, at the north end of Slave Lake where they are much better than on the
south and west sides of Slave Lake, in the upper Mackenzie, or in the Yukon. They are
carnivorous. It is a singular fact, that while they will not take the hook in Slave Lake, they do so
readily at Peel's River and the Yukon. [127]

The above are the only Salmonidae I have observed myself (one of the salmons I did not see, but
it is, doubtless, a distinct species), but there are doubtless many more here. I hear well-
authenticated stories of two other small white-fish at Fort Liard, and from my finding the two in
Rat River that were unknown to the fishermen, I am led to think that other fish, even when large,
may have escaped their notice.

15. "Round-fish." A curious little sub-cylindrical-bodied fish, found at Fort Simpson.

16. Leuciscus? A small "shiner" or minnow. Fort Simpson.

17. A small minnow, resembling what we call dace in the Des Plaines River. Found at Fort
Simpson. I also got this, or, more likely, another, allied species, at the Yukon.

18. Carp, or Sucker. There is a species at the Yukon, and one or two in Slave Lake. Whether that
of the Yukon is the same as one of the Slave Lake ones, I can not say. Suckers are found
throughout the waters of the Mackenzie, and, as far as I know, of the Yukon, where they are the
most abundant fish except some of the salmonoids. In Rat River and Slave Lake they are ex-
ceedingly numerous.

It is singular that, though so clumsy a fish, they go far up into the mountains. A great many, of
all sizes, are taken here at La Pierre's House. They pass down from the mountain streams here in
August. Like the loche, they do not inhabit the small lakes, but are true river fish, appearing most
at home in small rivers.

They are far less numerous in the lower Mackenzie than higher up that river, or in Rat River.
Indeed, they are far more numerous at La Pierre's House than at Peel's River.

19. Pike ("jack-fish"). One or more kinds of pike are found throughout the waters of the Yukon
and Mackenzie, their habits being apparently much the same as in the United States. They are
most numerous in some small lakes and small rivers of slow current; rarely seen in mountain
streams.

20. "Loch." (Lota?) Decidely a "queer fish." It is, I am told, very like the salt-water cod. It
resembles our catfish somewhat in shape, and has no scales. It is a river fish, and it never found
in the small lakes. Though most numerous in comparatively still waters, it ascends all the rivers
to their [128] heads, and even accompanies the blue-fish, in small numbers, far up into the
mountains.

The largest ones are found at Peel's River, weighing, perhaps, twenty-five to thirty pounds. In the
Yukon they are smaller and much less numerous than east of the mountains, where they are
found throughout the waters of the Mackenzie. The flesh is not eatable, but they are taken in
large numbers for the livers, which are delicious. I have told of them elsewhere.

21. Stickle-back (Gasterosteus). I found a large one in small brooks at Peel's River and Slave
Lake.

22. Bull-head. In the mountain streams, flowing into Rat River, there is a small, scaleless fish,
not over three inches long, of the general shape of a Cottus, and with similar habits, apparently. I
found them most numerous among the stQJles in little rapids. I believe they are not found In the
waters of the Mackenzie.

23. "Doree" (Lucioperca). A species of this genus IS found in Slave Lake, the upper Mackenzie,
and at Fort Liard. It is not in the lower Mackenzie, nor the Yukon, and is not common even in
Slave Lake.
The above are all the northern fish I know, that I can now remember. On putting them all down
on paper, I see that the non-salmonoids are more numerous that I had thought. But of these the
carp is the only one that is numerous in individuals; the loche comes next in numbers. There
must be many more fish that I have not seen, even in the localities I have visited, for my fish
hunt has not been at all thorough!

Appendix II
Fall Geese Fort Yukon

1860

[80] The geese were abundant, but they were wild, and flew high. I, however, spent little time
trying to shoot geese, and only bagged two. The rl ns er Gambelii was the most abundant. This
species is more wild than any other. The A. hyperboreus is least so, and is easily called within
shot. Some of the Indians, especially the young boys, imitate the notes of the different birds very
closely.

The yellow variety of A. hyperboreus is apparently always the adult, being of large size, and
generally one of these is the leader of the band. I shot a specimen with the entire head, neck and
belly to anus washed with bright orange brown, darkest on the head. The bill in life is not clear
red, but dull, brownish red.

A small snow-goose, of which I have seen fine specimens, and which the hunters say is common,
is apparently A. albatus, or Rosii. Among some seventy-five to one hundred specimens of A.
Gambelii I find-none of A. frontalis, though I saw some with the white front very narrow,
margined behind with black, but with the belly no lighter, and the tail as usual.

On the evening of the 27th large numbers of Harelda glacialis arrived. They keep in large flocks,
far out from the shore, and are very wild. Their cry is very loud and clear, not unlike a bugle note
even, and rather musical-like h.a-ha-a h.a-a a halix, the penultimate note very loud. It can be
heard for a couple of miles. On a lone island in the river I found large numbers of rl rutcola xan-
thognatha."
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE WRITINGS OF ROBERT KENNICOTT In addition to the ] ournal
the published writings of Robert Kennicott were as follows:

"The Quadrupeds of Illinois, Injurious or Beneficial to the Farmer." Patent Office Agricultural
Reports, for 1856, pp. 52-110, plates v-xv; for 1857, pp. 72-107.

"Descriptions of New and Known North American Serpents." The United States and Mexican
Boundary Report, Vol. II, Reptiles, p. 14-23, plates iii-vii, xii, xIx, and xxi.

Descriptions of New and Known North Americas Serpents. "Pacific Railway Survey Reports,"
Vol. X; Williamson, Rept., pp. 10, II i plate xi.

Descriptions of North American Serpents. Vol. X i Beckwith, Rept., p. 19 i plate xvii.

Descriptions of North American Serpents. Vol. X; Whipple, Rept., pp. 39-43.

Descriptions of New and Known North American Serpents, Vol.

XII, Part 2; Cooper, Rept., pp. 296-300; plates xiii-xvi, xix, xx, and xxu,

1 End of the Journal.

For subsequent events in his career see introduction, ante., pp. 13-19. A good brief biography of
Robert Kennicott is included in the Dictionary of American Biography, (Charles Scribner's Sons,
New York, 1933.) X, pp., 338-339.
i
Original p. 85 footnote: “This’Journal’was written for his friends at home in January 1862.” The
writing was done at La Pierre’s House.
ii
Original author’s comment: “[They followed ] [70] the Saskatchewan River through small lakes and
swamps to Cumberland Lake. The expedition there consisted of two brigades of six barges each. Their
chief supply of food consisted of pemmican and galette.' They moved so rapidly from two o'clock in
the morning until nine or ten at night that no collections were possible. Kennicott expressed surprise, at
the great amount of hard labor performed by the voyageurs, on so little sleep.” Original footnote for p.
70: “Pemmican was a condensed food used by the Indians. It consisted of strips of dried venison
pounded into paste which was mixed with fat and berries and pressed into cakes. As made by the
Indians, according to Kennicott, pemmican 'was "composed of pounded meat and grease and 'hair,
sticks, bark, spruce leaves, stones, sand, etc.' JJ See Pemmican soup or Rubbaboo, post., p. 86. Galette
was made by mixing flour with water. It was then baked in a frying-pan.”
iii
Concering the voyage north from Cumbrland House, Kennicott says the following: “Above the Crooked Rapid we entered
Knee Lake, a long, narrow sheet of water, with numerous beautiful rocky islands. On the rapid we saw scores of pelicans
fishing. Two remained on the opposite side, giving me an opportunity, of observing their manner of taking their prey. They
would fly some distance up the rapid, and then alighting in the water, float down with the current, striking the head under
water at the small fish they saw; then, straining the water from the pouch, they appeared to swallow the fish at once, as they
held the head up in the air as if for that purpose. From Lac La Crosse we passed up Methy River to Methy Lake, the latter
twenty or thirty miles long. The boats were then poled several miles up a narrow and exceedingly crooked creek to the
portage landing. Methy River is nowhere rock-bound, and the shores exhibit a deep soil. The forests are dense, though
consisting of small trees. Chiefly scrub pines and spruces in the righ grounds, and spruce and poplar, mixed with a little
birch, on that which is lower. The soil is sandy in most places. The rocks appear to be limestone and sandstone. Near the
middle of the portage are two small lakes. I examined the water of one, and found it some what saline.”
iv
Chiefly spruce and poplars (P. tremuloides and P. balsamicus), with some scrub pine, large willows, alders, and birch.
v
Kennicott adds re portages: “, of which there are a number on Elk River, and just below Lake Athabasca.”o
vi
K. adds: “The Clearwater River is a narrow and rather rapid stream, with frequent sand bars and rapids. The shores are
mostly rocky, with high hills rising behind them. The rocks appear to be thinly stratified limestones.”
vii
K.adds that the Athabasca is also known as the Elk, and as Rivière La Biche by voyageurs. “It is very broad, varying from
half a mile to a mile and a half in width, and must run for a considerable part of its course through an alluvial soil, for its
waters are quite turbid. It contains numerous low islands, and many sand bars, or "battures," as the voyageurs call them.” He
also mentions the many tree trunks on the banks: “For some seventy or a hundred miles below the mouth of the Clearwater,
the shores rise into high hills, but further down the country is low, and brings strongly to mind the appearance of the shores
of the Lower Mississippi. The piles of drift-wood lying on the banks, the islands, and the balsam poplars which line the
shores and look like cottonwoods, add to this resemblance. Many of the trees brought down by the spring floods are of great
size, showing that they came from the Rocky Mountains.” Concerning the Athabasca and Lake Athabasca he mentions
their depressing appearance: “ free from rocks, and piled with driftwood, affording a strange and dismal prospect. The
northeast shore of the lake is, however, high and rocky, the rocks being granite.”
viii
K. adds that the Peace “ resembles the lower part of the Elk, but is deeper and wider. It is also turbid. “
ix
K. adds the following cncerning the complexity of naming : “however, from the absence of good interpreters. The Indian
system of names, both proper names and those of relationship, is a very singular one. A boy at birth receives some name, as,
for instance, Giih (hare); but this name is retained only during youth. When he marries he is called "the father of" his oldest
child. For instance, if his first child should be called" M' hiss" (the knife), his name is no longer "Giih," but "M' hiss tah (the
knife's father). But if he does not marry young, or has no child, he is called the father of his favorite dog. If he has no dog,
he is called the father of something else he values. Thus, the man who takes care of the cattle here is called their father ("ad'
je ra tah"), while I am called" t' tha cho tah" (big pipe's father). If the man who is called after his dog afterwards has
children, he is called after the eldest; if this one dies, he is called after the next, and so on. The same rule applies to women,
except that they do not [75] change their first name at all unless they have children. But to barren women, or to old men
who never had children, the simple terms "Kleng tah" (dog's father), or "Kleng moh" (dog's mother), are often applied in
derision. Nevertheless, the name of a man called after his own particular dog is by no means applied in derision.”
x
The next sentence , which does not quite make sense, reads “There is very little sport to be had, and when the geese arrive
they would seem to be valued at their weight in gold.”
xi
The laughing goose (Anser Gambelii), and the common large Canada goose, are the most abundant
here in spring. There are also a great many snow geese, and the small Bernicla Hutchinsii, which is a
miniature of the Canada goose. There are always seen a few flocks, too, of a very small and rather
bonnie black goose, with a white cravat on, Bernicla nigricans, I think it is. It is a close ally of the
Eastern brant. The Canada geese breed here abundantly, but no other species.

xii
In the original this paragraph was on p. ....
xiii
The same material is presented on p. 87: “The Yukon canoes are very light, and much more bonnie than those of any
other tribe of Indians. They are flat on the bottom, and have very light braces instead of the comparatively heavy framework
that supports the birch bark in the Slavy and Cree canoes.”

xiv
“For the benefit of those among you who may care for it, I must now give you a full, true and
particular account of my trapping experiences, first noticing my dogs. Here is a pleasure which you
unfortunate outsiders can never even form an idea of Dog driving!

xv
“It is lucky for me that I called this a rubbaboo, for now I can with impunity run off the track like a traverse sled or a New
Jersey locomotive.”
xvi
This section was on original p. 113.
xvii
"Horrid mess!" did you say? That is because you are outsiders, among whom the men, pauvres garçons, can not eat even
half a wife's "prey." And, too, you never took your Christmas dinner on the Rocky Mountains, after a "constitutional" of
twelve hours, in a temperature of 40° below zero. Therefore, you are not competent judges of how good boiled white fish,
with moose tallow sauce, may be under such [108] circumstances. I would not wonder if you are so conceited as to think
yourselves better off than we are, and actually think our life not a desirable one. Well, I always did maintain that the fox
was more philosophical than foolish, when, finding the grapes out of his reach, he tried to believe them sour, and so,
mayhap, as you can never enjoy the pleasures of life in the north, you do best to adopt this vulpine philosophy.”
xviii
A few small suckers are taken early in fall, and a good many of a very small kind of salmonoid, a little like the whitefish,
known here as the "mountain fish." But only the bluefish are caught in such immense numbers. These are a species peculiar
to the northern part of the Rocky Mountains, belonging to the genus Thymallus. They are allied to the brook trout, and arc
generally rather smaller than that species. They are a bonnie fish, with a much elongated dorsal fin; the colors arc not,
however, near so elegant as those of the brook trout, as they arc of a dark color, of various shades, the larger ones bluish
black, whence the name. I have never had an opportunity to try them with the hook, but I fancy they would afford good
sport to the fisherman. In fact, I have not fished with hook and line, except for some [112] kinds of "minnows," since I have
been in the District. In a mountain stream, tributary to the Mackenzie, near here and Peel’s River, a fine kind of trout is
caught, resembling the large trout of the Great Lakes, but much smaller. The largest fish at Peel's River is the inconnu. This
is not at all like a true salmon, but may be described as resembling a white-fish, but with the body broader and less deep,
and with a large, elongated head, and very wide mouth. Flett weighed one of forty pounds at Peel's River. I saw a salmon at
the Yukon which weighed fifty-two pounds.”
xix
Kennicott uses the word “savage” instead of Indian in the original.
xx
K. adds For his friends: “To you graminivora it would be harder. Mark you, we carnivorous voyageurs are, by the rules of
zoology, a higher order of animals than you outsiders, who can't live without bread and vegetables.